


In Sickness and In Health

by BabyBeBop



Category: Looking (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Post Movie, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9710429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyBeBop/pseuds/BabyBeBop
Summary: After two years in Texas, Patrick and Richie move back to the Bay Area and start making plans for their future, but an unexpected health crisis gets in the way.





	1. Diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stress this enough: No one dies in this story. :) Don't be scared to read it. Richie will be fine.
> 
> There are a lot of references to things that happened in my other Looking fanfics, so you should probably read those first, if you haven't already.
> 
> Also: This story takes place in a magical world where ACA insurance is still a thing and it's not being taken away. Because, without it, someone with Richie's income would probably die and I don't want to write that. #SaveACA

“Swear to God, this is the last time we move,” Patrick grumbled, using an x-acto knife to open a cardboard box.

“I’m with you on that.” Richie was sitting on the living room floor, thumbing through instructions for a bookshelf that they had bought at IKEA. “Getting that mattress upstairs was a pain in the ass.”  
  
Patrick pulled kitchen supplies out of a box and paused, looking out the window at the evening sunset. It was purple and pinkish and so beautiful. Despite his complaining, he was happy to be where he was.

Chiquita scampered across the kitchen’s tile floor. Patrick reached into a bag, finding a Greenie and tossing it to her. It was around 5 pm, but he hadn’t adjusted to the time difference yet, so it felt more like 8. “I think I’m going to order some food. What sounds good to you?”

Richie looked up from his spot on the floor. “I don’t know. Chinese, maybe? Whatever’s close by.”

Patrick thumbed through his phone and sat down next to him. “There’s a Thai place a few minutes away.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Richie was looking down at the bookshelf instructions, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Here, lemme see,” Patrick snatched the pamphlet from him. He skimmed through it, reading quickly. “Oh my God.”

“I know, right? It makes no fucking sense.”

“Ok,” Patrick declared, tossing the instructions aside. “We’re not going to look at that anymore tonight. It’s our first night in our new apartment and I just want to hang out with you and eat Thai food and smoke a bowl.”

Richie chuckled. “It is legal here now.”

“I know,” Patrick grinned. He rubbed Richie’s leg. “I’m glad we’re Californians again.”

“Me too,” Richie said, kissing his cheek.

\--

“Here’s to Richie and Paddy!” Agustín declared, holding up his beer for a toast. “It took two years, but you finally hauled your asses back from Texas. Thank fucking God.”  
  
Loud cheers erupted and beverages clinked together.  
  
Patrick leaned back on his elbows and sipped his beer. He looked around at his friends, who were all crowded onto a blanket at Dolores Park. It hadn’t quite been two years, but it felt like much longer since they had moved away.  
  
Richie opened a bag of potato chips. “Your anniversary’s coming up,” he said to Agustín. “Congratulations.”  
  
Agustín beamed at Eddie, who had an arm around his shoulders. “That’s right. Two years of wedded bliss.”  
  
“Oh God, please,” Doris made gagging sounds. “This is getting way too sappy. Someone needs to start a fight or something.”  
  
“I’ll arm wrestle you,” Eddie suggested.  
  
“You sure?” Doris responded skeptically. “I gave birth to a nine pound baby. I’m pretty sure I could take you.”  
  
“She’s not kidding,” Malik shook his head woefully. “You don’t want to mess with her – she’s deceptively strong.”  
  
Doris and Malik’s four month old son, Charlie, was sitting on Doris’s lap. He stared, with wide brown eyes, at everything that was happening around him.  
  
Patrick looked over at Dom, who was sitting next to him. “How do you like being godfather?”  
  
“I love it,” Dom grinned. “I get to hold him and have fun with him – then he goes home with his parents.”  
  
“Yeah, no sleepless nights for you, you lucky bastard,” Doris chimed in.  
  
Richie passed the bag of potato chips to Patrick and he grabbed a handful, popping them into his mouth. Chiquita pawed at his leg and he picked her up, sitting her on his lap.  
  
“His teeth are about to start coming in, right?” Richie asked Doris. “Then you _really_ won’t get any sleep.”  
  
“Yeah,” Doris said, taking a sip of beer. “How’d you know about that?”  
  
Richie shrugged. “I’ve got nieces and nephews.”  
  
“Lots of them,” Patrick added. Richie was great with kids. He’d seen him give his nieces piggyback rides and calm them down when they were having fights.  
  
“Oh, look,” Doris laughed. Chiquita had hopped off Patrick’s lap and was nosing at Charlie’s feet. The baby seemed to like it, smiling while the dog tickled his toes.  
  
“Aw, Charlie, did you make a new friend?” Patrick asked.  
  
The baby looked up at him with wonderment. Then, a second later, opened his mouth and spit up all over his onesie.  
  
“Ugh, that’s not good,” Doris said, picking him up. “Good thing we brought a change of clothes.”  
  
“Hey, it’s not a real party until someone throws up,” Agustín smirked. “Right, Paddy?”  
  
“What are you asking me for?” Patrick laughed.  
  
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just remembering your last Halloween party, or New Year’s Eve 2012, or…”  
  
“Oh my God, shut the fuck up,” Patrick guffawed, playfully slugging him in the shoulder.  
  
Dom’s phone buzzed and he took it out of his pocket, checking his texts.  
  
Patrick sipped his beer and watched him, noticing the smile on his face when he read the message. “Is that Michael?” he asked. “You know I’m dying to meet him.”  
  
“It is,” Dom admitted. “He wants to meet you too – he just had a work thing today.”  
  
“He’s so hot,” Agustín said. “Seriously Paddy, you’re going to flip out.”  
  
Patrick laughed. “I know – I’ve seen pictures on Instagram.”  
  
“Yeah, but wait until you see him in real life,” Eddie said, pretending to fan himself. “He’s, like, insanely pretty.”  
  
“Ok, calm down,” Dom chuckled. “Here, I have some pictures on my phone.”  
  
He pulled up a photo and turned the phone around so they could see.  
  
“Aw, cute,” Patrick smiled, taking a swig of beer. “Well played, Dom.”  
  
Richie peered over his shoulder. “Yeah, good for you. You guys look really happy.”  
  
“I’ve already met him,” Doris said, not looking at the photo, “ _And_ he let me squeeze his biceps.”  
  
The baby had been changed into a clean shirt and was wiggling around on the blanket - not quite crawling, but trying to.  
  
“You’re gonna figure that out soon, huh?” Richie asked him. “Then you’re gonna be crawling everywhere.”  
  
Charlie looked at him and smiled, grunting and scooting along.  
  
Patrick leaned against Richie’s shoulder, the sun warming them. He reached into the cooler and grabbed another cold beer.  
  
\--  
  
“Pato…”  
  
“Hmm, what?” Patrick had been looking out the window, not really listening. They were on BART, heading back to Oakland after their welcome home party.  
  
“I was just saying that it was great seeing everyone again.”  
  
“Yeah, it was,” Patrick agreed.  
  
Richie took his hand. “You can tell me what you’re daydreaming about, if you want.”  
  
Patrick smiled. “It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking about how happy everyone looked.”  
  
“Yeah, everyone’s doing well.” Richie was waiting for him to say something more.  
  
“And I was thinking about Doris’s baby,” Patrick admitted, with a sigh.  
  
Richie chuckled. “I thought you might be. You seemed like you were having fun with him.”  
  
“So were you,” Patrick smiled.  
  
“Yeah, I was,” Richie said. “He’s really cute.”  
  
“You know, sometimes I think about what that would be like, if we did that,” Patrick confessed.  
  
“Have a baby?” Richie asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick nodded. “I mean, I don’t think about it a lot, just occasionally – and it’s not that I would even want it to happen any time soon, but I do think about it.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Richie assured him. “I think about it too.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie said. “I grew up in a big family and when I see my nieces and nephews, I feel like I want that some day. But…”  
  
“It’s a long way off,” Patrick finished for him.  
  
“A very long way,” Richie agreed. “We don’t even have furniture for our apartment yet.”  
  
“I know, don’t remind me,” Patrick groaned at the reminder of their chaotic living situation. They had brought everything they could from Texas, but they still needed a couch and chairs. Not to mention the boxes that were still piled up, waiting to be unpacked.  
  
“Besides,” Richie added. “I think I’d want to get married before we have any kids.”  
  
Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Richie smirked. “I’m not going to propose to you on BART.”  
  
“Oh, that’s good,” Patrick replied, glancing across the aisle and lowering his voice. “Because I think that guy over there is picking his nose.”  
  
Richie laughed. “Yeah, this isn’t the most romantic place.”  
  
Patrick held his hand and smiled at him. “There’s no hurry. We’ve got plenty of time...for everything.”  
  
Richie looked at him adoringly. He gave his hand a light squeeze. “That’s true, Pato. We’ve got our whole lives.”  
  
\--  
  
“Ok, we’re almost there,” Dom grunted. He was near the top of the stairs, gripping the end of their new couch.  
  
“Jesus, this thing weighs a ton,” Patrick huffed.  
  
“Yeah, but at least it was free,” Ceci reminded him. She gritted her teeth while she helped shove it upward.  
  
“I know. We’re so grateful, prima,” Richie said, holding one of the bottom corners. “Couches are ridiculously expensive.”  
  
Ceci had found it for them through a friend of a friend who was moving in with her boyfriend and didn’t need the extra furniture anymore.  
  
“Yeah, you’re a life saver,” Patrick told her. They finally reached the landing, giving one last push.  
  
“No hay problema,” Ceci replied. “Just be sure to name your first born after me.”  
  
Patrick looked at Richie and they exchanged a smile while lowering their end of the couch to the floor.  
  
They all stood around in the hallway, catching their breath.  
  
“We did it,” Dom pronounced, wiping sweat from his brow. “What happened to Agustín, by the way? I thought he was supposed to come and help.”  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes. “He had somewhere he needed to be. You know how he is. I think he has an allergy to helping people move.”  
  
“You should have reminded him of when we helped _him_ move to Oakland – and then back to San Francisco a month later.”  
  
Patrick put a hand on Richie’s shoulder, noticing how worn out he looked. He had mentioned the night before that he felt like he was coming down with something.  
  
Richie smiled at him weakly. “I’m fine, Pato,” he muttered, seeming to read his mind.  
  
“You’re sick?” Ceci asked, alarmed. “Por qué no dijiste algo? We didn’t have to do this today.”  
  
“I’m not sick, Ceci,” Richie promised her. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”  
  
“I think the three of us could get this into the apartment without you,” Dom suggested, “If you need to go lie down.”  
  
“No,” Richie was adamant. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this couch moved.”  
  
Dom and Ceci were willing to take his word for it, but Patrick vowed to himself that as soon as they left, he was going to make Richie get into bed. He wondered if they had any cans of chicken soup in the apartment or if he would need to make a trip to CVS.  
  
“Ok, one…two…three,” Dom hoisted up his end of the couch again, with Patrick and Richie taking the other end. Ceci held the middle.  
  
They carried it down the hallway and through the doorway into the apartment.  
  
\--  
  
When Patrick got back from the drugstore, Richie was curled up on the couch, with a blanket over his lap. Chiquita was sitting beside him.  
  
“Hey, I’m back.” Patrick walked over to him, carrying a paper bag in his hand. “I brought soup – and Vicks. Ceci said you needed Vicks.”  
  
Richie managed a smile at that. “Of course.”  
  
Patrick stroked his hair and then pressed a hand to his forehead. “I think you have a fever.”  
  
“Yeah, the flu’s been going around,” Richie pointed out. “Remember, Carmen’s kids were sick when we left Texas? I probably caught it from one of them.”  
  
Patrick frowned. “I’m going to bring you some soup and crackers – and Sprite. You need lots of fluids so you don’t get dehydrated.”  
  
“Pato…” Richie whined. He hated being fussed over when he was sick. “I’m not deathly ill – just a little under the weather, that’s all.”  
  
“I know. I just want you to get some rest.” Patrick leaned down and kissed him. He wasn’t worried about germs. He had learned by now that whatever Richie got, he was doomed to pick up as well. It was hard to avoid as long as they were sharing a bed every night.  
  
“You gonna take good care of me?” Richie asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow and kissing him again.  
  
Patrick laughed. “Yeah, that too - I promise.” He reluctantly pulled away from his embrace. “But first, I’m going to make you something to eat.”  
  
He left the room and Richie picked up the remote, scrolling through the DVR until he found a show to watch.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick had been able to stay on with the same company he had worked for in Dallas, transferring to their San Francisco office, but he mostly worked from home. He was at the kitchen table, in front of his laptop, when he heard the front door open.  
  
“Hey, you’re home early,” he said, when Richie came in the kitchen.  
  
“Yeah, it’s been raining off and on all day. Not many customers.” Richie went over to the stove and grabbed a pot. He held it in under the tap, filling it with water.  
  
“It’s supposed to clear up tomorrow.” Patrick watched him curiously over the edge of his laptop screen. He was making tea, a manzanilla brew that Ceci had brought over after she found out he wasn’t feeling well.  
  
Richie left the pot of water on the stove to boil and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m so tired,” he admitted.  
  
Patrick frowned at him sympathetically. “Maybe you should see a doctor. I mean, it’s been a few weeks. You might need more than a cup of tea.”  
  
“What’s a doctor going to say?” Richie asked. “They’ll just tell me to keep doing everything I’m already doing – take your vitamins, go to bed early, drink plenty of water.”  
  
Patrick’s laptop dinged, distracting him with a message from a co-worker. He turned back to the screen, frustrated with this project _and_ with Richie’s stubbornness. “I don’t know if the doctor will help,” he sighed, “but it’s worth trying.”  
  
Richie got up and went back to the stove, where the water was now boiling. He poured it into a mug, then added a tea bag. “I’ll think about it,” he said, stirring the tea with a spoon.  
  
“Good.” Patrick was satisfied with that small victory. The video game he was working on was a mess so far, but at least Richie was going to get well. That was the most important thing.  
  
\--  
  
Richie had been having night sweats. Patrick didn’t know why, he just assumed it was a side effect of whatever flu or virus he had picked up.  
  
“I’m sorry, Pato. I don’t know why this keeps happening.” Richie apologized profusely, embarrassed at having drenched his clothes and the sheets.  
  
“It’s ok, it’s alright.” Patrick was only half awake, but he stumbled out of bed and went to the closet to find clean sheets to replace the ones on the bed.  
  
Richie went to the bathroom to wash himself off and change out of his clothes while Patrick stripped the bed. He pulled off the wet sheets and hastily replaced them with clean ones, tucking them under the corners of the mattress.  
  
“This is so fucked up. I’m so sorry.” Richie came out of the bathroom, wearing a tank top and briefs. He looked exhausted and bleary eyed.  
  
“No, you don’t have to apologize.” Patrick pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back gently. “You’re sick, you can’t help it.”  
  
“Yeah, I think I _am_ really sick,” Richie confessed, muffling the words in Patrick’s shoulder. “I’ve never felt this bad before.”  
  
Patrick pulled back the covers and guided him back into bed. Then he turned off the lamp and climbed in next to him. “You’re going to get better,” he told him. “We’ll make an appointment with the doctor tomorrow and they’ll prescribe something that will clear this up really fast.”  
  
“I hope so,” Richie said. He rolled over on his back and looked at Patrick with a serious expression. “I want to show you something and I need you to not freak out, ok?”  
  
“Um, ok,” Patrick was suddenly very nervous.  
  
Richie lifted up one of his arms and took Patrick’s hand, placing it over his armpit. “Do you feel that?”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick gasped, his fingers brushing over the swollen lump. He propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at it. “What is it? Does it hurt?”  
  
“No, it’s not painful.” Richie moved Patrick’s hand away and put his arm down. “I noticed it a few days ago, when I was taking a shower. I’m not sure what it is.”  
  
Patrick gaped at him. “This could be really fucking serious, Richie. You need to get it checked out.”  
  
“I know,” Richie responded tiredly. “I told you I’d go to the doctor.”  
  
“Hell yeah you will.” Patrick was very alarmed. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew in his gut that it was very bad. “If you can’t get a doctor’s appointment right away, you should go to Urgent Care tomorrow.”  
  
“I will, I promise.” Richie rubbed his eyes. “I want this to be over with. I’m tired of feeling of like shit all the time.” He was so frustrated. He couldn’t do as many haircuts as he was used to without getting worn out, which meant he was losing money. They rarely went out at night, because he didn’t have enough energy left over after work.  
  
“It’s going to be fine,” Patrick promised, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his forehead. “You’ll feel better really soon.” He didn’t know if that was true, but he silently hoped that it was.  
  
Richie closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep.  
  
Patrick stayed awake, unable to relax with so many worrisome thoughts going through his mind. He quietly got out of bed and went to the living room, clicking on a lamp and finding his laptop. After powering it on, he searched “lymph nodes swollen” and “night sweats.”  
  
\--  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you, Paddy? Stay away from WebMD.” Dom shook his head in exasperation.  
  
Agustín picked at a blueberry muffin. “Yeah, nothing good ever comes from that.”  
  
“And I didn’t actually find out anything,” Patrick lamented. “It turns out there are _a lot_ of things that cause those symptoms…and some of them are really fucking scary.”  
  
“It could just be a virus,” Dom suggested, taking a sip of coffee.  
  
“You guys were traveling recently,” Agustín reminded him. “He could have picked up some weird germ at a truck stop.”  
  
Patrick grimaced. “Thanks. That’s comforting to think about.”  
  
Dom patted him on the shoulder. “Try not to worry about it. I’m sure Richie’s doctor will know what to do for him.”  
  
Patrick smiled at him weakly. He hoped Dom was right, but some of the articles he had read during his Google search had left him shaken. He wasn’t going to be able to relax until Richie went to the doctor and received a diagnosis, preferably for something easily treatable.  
  
Agustín took out his phone and scrolled through it.  
  
“Hey.” Patrick leaned forward, eager to find something to take his mind off of Richie. “Do you have any new photos from the art project you’ve been working on?”  
  
Agustín looked up from his phone and grinned at him. “Yeah, why don’t you come over and look at them in person? I have some new shots that I haven’t posted online yet.”  
  
“I would love to do that.” Patrick was grateful for the distraction – and happy to be able to spend time with Agustín. They hadn’t seen much of each other since he’d moved back. “I have to go to the office this afternoon, but I’ll come by around four, ok?”  
  
“Sounds good.” Agustín stuffed the rest of his blueberry muffin in his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his shirt. He picked up his bag off the floor. “Speaking of work – I’m running late.”  
  
“Yep, me too.” Dom stood up and Patrick rose with him. He gave him a quick hug. “Don’t stress out, ok? It’ll be fine.”  
  
“Thanks.” Patrick patted him on the back. “I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”  
  
“You better,” Dom smiled. He slipped out of his embrace and walked out of the coffee shop with Agustín by his side.  
  
“See ya, Paddy,” Agustín called back over his shoulder.  
  
“Later,” Patrick replied, taking his phone out of his pocket. He checked to see if there were any new messages from Richie and found that there were none. It was still early in the morning though. It was doubtful that he would have any news yet.  
  
After downing the last of his coffee, Patrick zipped up his hoodie and slung his backpack over his shoulders. He had a meeting to get to and being exhausted from Googling diseases all night wasn’t a good excuse for not showing up.  
  
\--  
  
“Oh my God, Agustín, these are amazing.” Patrick picked up one of the black  & white photos that were scattered on the coffee table. The portraits were all of trans kids that Eddie worked with.  
  
“We’re thinking about maybe binding them into a book and selling them to raise money for the shelter.”  
  
“That’s a great idea.” Patrick was so proud to see his friend doing well. The photographs he had taken were beautiful. “I’ll definitely buy a copy of the book. Put my name first on the list.”  
  
“Thanks,” Agustín beamed.  
  
“What’s that over there?” Patrick noticed an easel in the corner of the room with a half-finished canvas on it. He walked over to get a closer look.  
  
The painting showed two figures, up to their shoulders in water, with a dark, starry night above them.  
  
“It’s just something I’ve been working on,” Agustín explained. “I don’t think I’ll sell this one. I’m just experimenting with it.”  
  
“Well, your experiment looks great.” Patrick was genuinely impressed. “I’m so glad you got back into this. I always knew you had talent.”  
  
Agustín smiled broadly, obviously pleased that he had impressed him. “It turns out that you actually _don’t_ have to live a shitty, tortured life to make good art. Who knew?”  
  
“Well, _I_ knew,” Patrick teased him. “Not that you would have listened to me.”  
  
“Hey, fuck off,” Agustín laughed.  
  
They went back to the couch and slumped down on to it. Patrick took his phone out and checked it for what must have been the millionth time that day.  
  
“You still haven’t heard anything?” Agustín asked sympathetically.  
  
Patrick shook his head. “No, and it’s driving me crazy. I don’t know why he hasn’t at least texted me yet.”  
  
“Maybe he’s still at the doctor’s office.”  
  
“Yeah, that could be.” Patrick checked his email and social media accounts, just to be thorough.  
  
Agustín patted his knee and stood up. “I’m gonna get a drink – do you want anything? I could make you a Rum and Coke.”  
  
“That sounds good. Thanks.” Patrick sighed and put his phone down. He looked through the photos again that were on the coffee table.  
  
“Eddie should be home soon,” Agustín said, his voice drifting in from the kitchen. “I could call him and have him pick up some food for us.”  
  
“I don’t need anything,” Patrick responded. He was too stressed to eat. “But go ahead if you’re hungry.”  
  
“I’m starving,” Agustín declared, “and all we’ve got in here are ketchup, guacamole, and…I don’t know what that is.”  
  
Patrick laughed. “You haven’t gotten any better at cleaning out the fridge?”  
  
“Nope, not at all.”  
  
“Remember that time you left that thing of tofu…” Patrick’s phone buzzed and he was distracted from finishing his sentence. “Oh, thank God,” he said, when he saw that it was Richie calling.  
  
“Patrick,” Richie answered, his voice sounding weird and strained.  
  
“Hey, what’s going on?” Patrick responded eagerly. “Did you get to see the doctor? What did he say?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I did. He managed to fit me in.” Richie didn’t offer any more than that.  
  
“Ok, so what happened?” Patrick prodded.  
  
“He examined me and I told him about the symptoms that I’ve been having and he said that I, uh…” Richie’s voice broke.  
  
“Oh God, what?” Patrick’s panic was rising.  
  
“He scheduled an appointment for me with a surgeon,” Richie finally finished, his voice thick. “They need to do a biopsy of the lump under my arm so they can find out if I have cancer.”  
  
Patrick felt himself go numb. His heart hammered in his chest. “Oh my God,” was all he could say. He repeated it several times.  
  
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Richie explained, obviously crying now. “I put Chiquita on her leash and we’ve just been walking around the park. I thought it might clear my head, but it hasn’t.”  
  
Patrick wiped tears from his eyes. “Are you home now?”  
  
“Yeah, we just got back.”  
  
“Good.” Patrick had to summon all the courage inside of himself not to lose his shit - at least not while they were on the phone. Later, he could have a complete breakdown, but not right now.  
  
Agustín came in the room and sat next to him on the couch.  
  
“I’m going to catch the next train and I’ll be home as soon as I can, ok?” Patrick grabbed Agustín’s hand. He swallowed back a sob that was threatening to escape. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, Pato,” Richie responded hoarsely.  
  
The call ended and Patrick’s whole body sagged. He put his head in his hands while Agustín rubbed his shoulder. “Cancer,” he breathed out. “They think he has cancer.”  
  
“Oh shit, Paddy.” Agustín hugged him.  
  
Patrick was reeling, his emotions zig zagging between fear and sadness and shock. He had never been so afraid. All he could think about was Richie. He was dealing with this alone and he needed to be with him. “I’ve got to go,” he told Agustín, his vision blurred with tears.  
  
“Yeah, of course. I’ll walk you to BART,” Agustín offered, grabbing his jacket.  
  
They hurried out of the apartment, locking the door behind them.  
  
\--  
  
The train ride back to Oakland went by in a blur. Patrick barely noticed the people around him. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, only vaguely aware when his stop was announced. _This can’t be happening,_ he thought over and over again.  
  
It wasn’t until he walked into the apartment and saw Richie standing there that everything became real. He had lost weight. He was thinner than he had been a few weeks ago. Patrick wondered why he hadn’t noticed that before, why he hadn’t pushed him to see a doctor sooner.  
  
“Pato,” Richie said softly. He crossed the room and had his arms around him in a heartbeat.  
  
Patrick breathed him in, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He wept openly, unable to hold back anymore. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”  
  
\--  
  
They huddled together on the bed, not wanting to let go of each other. Richie laid his head on Patrick’s chest and he stroked his hair.  
  
“Did he say what kind of lymphoma it might be?” Patrick asked. He had come across it during his WebMD visit and he knew there was more than one type.  
  
“No,” Richie answered wearily, “and we don’t even know yet if that’s what I actually have. We won’t know anything until after they do the biopsy.”  
  
“Ok,” Patrick drew in a deep, shaky breath. They would get through this. They had to get through this. “I’ll go with you when you have it done,” he told him.  
  
“You don’t have to.”  
  
“Yeah, but I _want_ to,” Patrick insisted. “I won’t be able to get any work done anyway, if I’m worrying about how you’re doing.”  
  
His phone buzzed on the nightstand and Patrick ignored it. Agustín had probably told everyone, but he wasn’t ready to talk to his friends about it yet. He just wanted to be with Richie for a while.  
  
“Shit, I can’t believe this,” Richie groaned. He sat up and grabbed a tissue to wipe his face. “We just moved – I need to be out in my truck, finding new customers. We’ve still got boxes that we haven’t unpacked.”  
  
Patrick shook his head, his eyes tearing up again. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you to get well. We’ll figure out the rest of it later.”  
  
He rubbed Richie’s back soothingly.  
  
“I fucking hate this,” Richie muttered.  
  
“Me too.” Patrick hugged him again and he felt Richie’s body relax in his arms.  
  
“Pato,” Richie murmured. He sounded so sad and broken.  
  
Patrick kissed his cheek, whispering comforting words in his ear.  
  
“I need…” Richie looked him in the eyes, his voice trailing off. He didn’t have to say it. Patrick got it. He needed to be comforted, to be taken care of. They both did.  
  
Patrick kissed him, his hands on his face and his thumbs brushing over his stubble.  
  
Richie hummed against his mouth, tugging at the hem of his shirt.  
  
Patrick yanked the shirt over his head and threw it aside. He pulled Richie back in for another kiss, closing his eyes and trying to forget everything except this.  
  
“Love you,” Richie sighed. “Amor de mi vida.”  
  
Patrick’s Spanish had improved enough to understand what that meant. “You’re mine too,” he told him, tears spilling down his cheeks.  
  
Richie wiped his tears away, then kissed his shoulder and his chest, moving down lower. He unzipped Patrick’s jeans, tugging them down and off. “You’re so gorgeous,” he said, sitting back on his heels. His eyes swept over his body. “I don’t tell you that enough.”  
  
Patrick didn’t want him to talk that way, like he had to say those things, in case he didn’t get the chance. “C’mere,” he beckoned for him.  
  
Richie climbed back up his body until they were face to face again. Patrick kissed him, his tongue in his mouth and his hands pulling at his clothes. “I want to see you too.”  
  
Richie shed his shirt and then shimmied out of his jeans. When they were finally lying naked together, Patrick slowly, carefully worked him over. He kissed and touched every part of him, focusing intently on making him feel good.  
  
Richie gripped the back of his head and Patrick looked up at him, his lips wrapped around his cock. In the glow of the lamplight, he looked breathtakingly beautiful, almost angelic. Patrick didn’t even realize he was crying again until he felt the wetness on his face.  
  
“Hey,” Richie said, gesturing for him to come closer. “No more tears, ok?”  
  
Patrick gave a small nod and pulled off, crawling up to meet him for a kiss. “I’ll stop if you’ll stop,” he promised.  
  
Richie kissed him again, his eyes shining. He flipped them over, pinning Patrick underneath him, and reached for a bottle of KY on the nightstand.  
  
\--  
  
“My Señora said I would get cancer,” Richie said softly, when they were lying in bed afterward.  
  
“I know.” Patrick had been thinking about that too.  
  
“I just thought it would be, you know, when I was an old man or something,” Richie admitted. “In the mean time, I’d just get my moles checked and forget about it.”  
  
Patrick rubbed Richie’s arm and closed his eyes. There was a dull ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. Sex had only been a temporary reprieve. “Oh,” his eyes flew open again. “She said something else too, remember?”  
  
“Hmm, what? About me being broke?”  
  
“No, the two little girls,” Patrick reminded him. “We don’t have any kids yet, so that means that you’re going to be ok, right? I mean, if one part of it is true, then the other part has to be too.”  
  
“God, I hope so, Pato,” Richie sighed, picking up his hand and kissing his fingers. “I want to have children with you, I want to marry you…there’s so much left that I want to do with my life.”  
  
Patrick sniffled, pressing his lips to Richie’s shoulder. “We’re going to do all of that.”  
  
“I’m just so scared right now,” Richie admitted. “I mean, I know that I’m young and I’m usually pretty healthy, so my chances of recovery are good, but I’m just really fucking scared.”  
  
“Me too.” Patrick dragged a finger over his arm, touching the letters of the tattoo there. He traced the P, then the A and the T, finally lingering over the O. He remembered when Richie had gotten inked with his nickname, how he had worried that he might someday be old and regretful over it. Now he didn’t care about the regret part, he just wanted to be old and gray, with Richie beside him. “It’s alright that you’re scared,” he told him, swallowing back a lump in his throat. “You don’t have to be brave.”  
  
Richie smiled. “You won’t judge me for being a mess?”  
  
“No,” Patrick snuggled against the warmth of his body. “We’ll be a mess together.”  
  
\--  
  
Patrick took a half day off from work to accompany Richie to the surgeon’s office the next morning. He flipped through a magazine while Richie filled out pages of forms regarding his medical history.  
  
“I’ve never even heard of some of these,” Richie said, checking ‘no’ on another box.  
  
Patrick peered over his shoulder. “Glaucoma? That’s, like, something to do with your eyes. Grandmas get it.”  
  
“Oh yeah, they prescribe weed for that, don’t they?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
Richie finished filling out the forms and turned them in at the desk. He came back over and sat next to Patrick again. “They said it would be a few more minutes,” he told him.  
  
Patrick looked up at the TV mounted high in the corner of the room. It was on the Today show. Kathie Lee and Hoda were drinking wine and giggling at each other.  
  
“Do you want me to go in with you? Would they allow that?” Patrick asked.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Richie answered. “Besides, I’m not sure you’d actually want to watch.”  
  
Patrick grimaced. He hadn’t thought about that. “They’re going to use a big needle, aren’t they?”  
  
“Yeah, they might use a needle – or they might have to cut out the whole thing.”  
  
“Ugh. Oh God.” Patrick felt queasy.  
  
“To be honest, I’m trying really hard not to think about it,” Richie frowned.  
  
“You’re nervous,” Patrick said, not asking, just stating the fact. Of course he was – they were sitting in a doctor’s office, waiting to find out if he had cancer. There was literally nothing more stressful.  
  
“Yeah, really nervous,” Richie admitted, tapping his foot and glancing back up at Kathie Lee and Hoda.  
  
Patrick tried to think of something he could say that might help him relax. He couldn’t come up with anything.  
  
A few minutes later, a woman in a white coat emerged with a clipboard in her hand. “Ricardo?” she asked, scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Richie and he nodded. “Dr. Weston will see you now.”  
  
“Ok,” Richie took a deep breath and stood.  
  
Patrick gave his hand a squeeze. “Good luck,” he offered, forcing a tense smile onto his face.  
  
“Thanks, Pato,” Richie said, slowly letting go of his hand. He disappeared down a corridor with the woman in the lab coat, the door swinging shut behind them.  
  
Patrick picked up a magazine and flipped through it quickly, then put it back down again. He couldn’t bring himself to care about celebrity gossip right now. Instead, he took out his phone and scrolled through the texts that he had been ignoring since last night. There were several messages from his friends, expressing concern and asking him to get in touch.  
  
_Richie might have c…._ he started to type out, then hit the back button, deleting all of it. Texting or talking about it would only make it more real. He didn’t want this to be real. Richie didn’t have cancer. The biopsy would reveal nothing and they would go on, happily living their lives.  
  
A new message popped up, from Dom. _Paddy, we’re all worried about you guys. Please let us know how you’re doing._  
  
Patrick hit reply and typed back, _We’re at the Dr’s office for a biopsy. I’m not trying to ignore you. It’s just hard to talk about._  
  
Another message came through. _Understood. Call when you’re ready. Love to you & Richie._ It was followed by several heart emojis.  
  
Patrick put the phone down and wiped at his eyes. He looked up and saw that an elderly woman had taken a seat across from him. She was staring at him with a perturbed expression.  
  
“Are you done with the magazine?” she asked.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Patrick quickly handed her the copy of US Weekly.  
  
“Thank you,” she said.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick stared blankly at the screen of his laptop, zoning out. He had work that he needed to be doing, but his mind was somewhere else. It had been a few days since the biopsy and they hadn’t heard anything back. They had been warned that it could take weeks.  
  
In the mean time, things were incredibly tense and neither of them was getting any sleep, especially since Richie was still having night sweats.  
  
Patrick looked over at Chiquita, who was sitting on an armchair beside the couch. She had no idea what was going on. “Lucky girl,” he told her.  
  
Rubbing his tired eyes, Patrick picked up his phone and opened Instagram. He scrolled through it, stopping at Dom’s latest post. It was a picture of him, Dom, & Agustín at a Christmas party several years back. They all looked very young and very drunk. Agustín had tinsel in his hair.  
  
Patrick pulled up his list of contacts and hesitated before pressing Dom’s name.  
  
“Paddy,” Dom answered, sounding elated to hear from him. “What’s going on? How are you guys holding up?” There were sounds of pots and pans clattering in the background. He was at work.  
  
“We’re, uh, well…” Patrick couldn’t lie and say that everything was great. Dom would see through it anyway. “We’re dealing with a lot of heavy shit right now,” he finally answered, truthfully.  
  
“I know. Agustín told me. I’m so sorry. Look, I’m going to have to step outside so I can hear you better. Just give me a second.”  
  
Patrick waited a minute for Dom to leave the noisy restaurant.  
  
“Ok, that should be better,” Dom said, coming back on the line. “So, tell me what’s happening – have you heard anything back about the test results? He had a biopsy, right?”  
  
Patrick drew in a breath. “Yeah, they did a biopsy. They ended up cutting out this whole swollen area underneath his arm.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“I know, right?” Patrick made a face. “He’s got a bandage over it, but he still went to work today, so I don’t think it’s hurting him too much.”  
  
“And they haven’t told you anything?”  
  
“No, not a thing,” Patrick chuckled bitterly. “And it’s slowly driving us both completely insane.”  
  
“Aw, Paddy. I wish there was something I could do to help.”  
  
“I know. I know you guys want to help.” Patrick tapped a few keys on his laptop, mostly just to keep it awake. He glanced around the living room. They still hadn’t assembled the bookshelf from IKEA. The pieces were sitting in a box on top of the TV cabinet. “It’s weird how, the minute you hear the word ‘cancer,’ it’s like everything changes. The stuff that we used to worry about seems so meaningless now.”  
  
“Yeah, I remember,” Dom said mournfully. “It was like that when my Dad got sick.”  
  
Patrick’s chest tightened at the mention of Dom’s father. He had died from a particularly aggressive form of cancer. “I know this is none of my business and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…” he hedged, chewing on his lip, “what was it like when your Dad was going through chemo? Was it really horrible?”  
  
“It was _awful_ \- but that was almost thirty years ago, Paddy,” Dom pointed out. “Cancer treatments have advanced so much since then.”  
  
“I just keep thinking about Richie losing his hair,” Patrick admitted. “I mean, I know hair grows back and that’s not the most important thing to be focusing on, but he would absolutely hate losing his hair.”  
  
“He _would_ ,” Dom agreed. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”  
  
“Me too.” Patrick nervously clutched a throw pillow while he thought about it.  
  
“I have to get back to work,” Dom told him. “It’s our busiest time of day. Otherwise, I’d talk longer.”  
  
“No, that’s ok,” Patrick assured him. “Go, cook some chickens.”  
  
“Hey,” Dom said. “Why don’t you and Richie come to the city this weekend? We could go to a movie or something.”  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like fun.” Patrick wasn’t sure if Richie would be feeling up to it, but it might be good to get out of the apartment and be with friends.  
  
“I’ll text you some show times later. Be sure to tell Richie that we’re all pulling for him, ok?”  
  
“I will,” Patrick promised, getting misty eyed. “Thanks, Dom.”  
  
“I love you, Paddy.”  
  
“Love you too.”  
  
\--  
  
Patrick was standing at the stove, boiling noodles for macaroni and cheese, when Richie came home from work that night.  
  
“That sounds good,” Richie said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I skipped lunch and now I’m starving.”  
  
Patrick was horrified. “Are you serious? You can’t skip meals, Richie. You need to take care of yourself.”  
  
“I know,” Richie said defensively. “I just haven’t had much of an appetite.”  
  
“Well, you still need to be eating,” Patrick said irritably. He worried constantly about Richie’s health and it annoyed him to think he wasn’t sharing his concerns.  
  
Richie wrapped his arms around him from behind. “I _am_ taking care of myself,” he told him quietly. “You don’t need to stress out so much.”  
  
Patrick sighed. “How can I relax when we’re not even sure what we’re dealing with?” he wondered.  
  
Richie rested his chin on his shoulder. “I don’t know, Pato.”  
  
The macaroni noodles finished boiling and Patrick added the shredded cheese, stirring the pot.  
  
\--  
  
On Saturday night, they ended up seeing a new Mark Ruffalo movie with Dom and Michael. The plot of the movie was dark and complicated. Patrick got lost a few times trying to follow it.  
  
Afterward, he held Richie’s hand while they left the theater. Dom and Michael walked a few steps ahead of them.  
  
“What did you think?” Patrick asked.  
  
Richie grinned. “It was confusing.”  
  
“I know, right?” Patrick was glad that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t get it.  
  
“I bet I know what your favorite scene was,” Richie teased him.  
  
“What?” Patrick smirked, like he didn’t know what he was going to say.  
  
“The part where he showed his ass,” Richie laughed.  
  
“Hey,” Patrick giggled, swatting his shoulder. “You liked it too! I know you did.”  
  
“I did,” Richie admitted, smiling at him.  
  
They fell into silence, walking side by side through the city. Halloween decorations were hanging in shop windows. It was almost that time of year again.  
  
“What do you think of Michael?” Patrick asked. “I like him.”  
  
Dom and Michael were now further up the street, waiting at the crosswalk for them to rejoin them.  
  
“Yeah,” Richie agreed. “He seems good for Dom.”  
  
“Paddy, hurry up,” Dom called out, “or we’re going to eat without you.”  
  
“No fucking way,” Patrick called back.  
  
They finally reached their friends and Dom hit the crosswalk button. “What do you guys want to eat? Do burgers sound good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I could go for a cheeseburger.”  
  
“I’ve been craving chili cheese fries,” Michael admitted.  
  
Patrick turned to Richie. “What are you going to order?”  
  
“I don’t know, Pato. I’m not really hungry.”  
  
Patrick prodded him. “C’mon, you must be. You barely ate anything for dinner.”  
  
“ _No_ , I said I’m just not hungry, ok?” Richie said, a little too defensively.  
  
There was a moment of quiet tension before Patrick muttered “I’m sorry.” He knew Richie’s appetite hadn’t been good recently and he had promised to back off.  
  
“No, _I’m_ sorry, Pato,” Richie sighed. “I know you’re just trying to help.”  
  
Dom and Michael stood nearby, awkwardly trying to pretend they weren’t listening in on their conversation.  
  
“I’m not trying to nag you. All I want is for you to get well and it’s so fucking frustrating, like nothing I do matters.”  
  
The crosswalk sign finally changed, to everyone’s relief. Dom and Michael charged ahead, with Patrick and Richie lagging behind them.  
  
“You _do_ matter,” Richie told him. “I love that you’re always there for me, just…I don’t know, maybe be there a little bit less?”  
  
Patrick nodded, reluctantly accepting what he’d said. “Ok, I can do that. I’ll be supportive but, at the same time, try to stay out of your shit.”  
  
“Thanks, Pato.” Richie linked their arms together. “I’m just trying to figure out what I need right now and it’s really hard when we don’t even really know what’s going on.”  
  
“Yeah.” Patrick desperately wanted to know the results of the biopsy, but he was also dreading it. If it came back positive, it would only mean a whole new set of worries.  
  
“We’re good though, right?” Richie asked, noticing his pained expression.  
  
“Of course,” Patrick gave him a tentative smile. His emotions had been kind of all over the place recently, but he definitely wasn’t upset with him. “You could buy me a milkshake though,” he added.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Richie grinned. “I’m the one who’s sick and I have to buy you milkshakes? Is that how it is?”  
  
Patrick laughed, nudging him in the side. “Makes sense to me.”  
  
“I’ll get you all the milkshakes, sweetie,” Richie said, arching an eyebrow and giving his ass a light squeeze, “if you promise to pay me back later.”  
  
“You bet I will.” Patrick gave him a quick kiss and swung open the door to the diner.  
  
\--  
  
“I found our Halloween costumes,” Patrick announced excitedly, standing in the entryway to the kitchen.  
  
Richie was in front of the microwave, warming up leftovers for dinner. “Really? Already?”  
  
“What do you mean ‘already’?” Patrick asked incredulously. “Agustín and Eddie’s Halloween party is the day after tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh shit. I completely forgot.”  
  
Patrick knew that he had a lot on his mind and he wasn’t surprised that picking out Halloween costumes had slipped through the cracks. He had barely remembered it himself. “I went shopping on my lunch break and I found the best costume. You’re going to look so hot in it.”  
  
Richie allowed himself to be led out of the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom. The costumes were laid out on the bed. “Cops?” he asked.  
  
“No, not just cops,” Patrick explained. “CHiPs! You know, the old show from the 70s? It’s perfect for us – I can be the blonde guy and you can be Erik Estrada.”  
  
“These pants look like they’re going to be tight,” Richie said, holding them up in front of him.  
  
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Patrick grinned. The mental image of Richie in a policeman’s uniform, wearing a very snug pair of pants, had made him rush to the cash register. “You should go ahead and try it on.”  
  
Richie smirked. “Is this for Halloween or are we doing role play?”  
  
“Both. Definitely both.” Patrick giggled.  
  
Richie unzipped his jeans and shoved them off, then pulled on the pants for the costume. “Jesus, I can barely get them over my hips,” he grumbled.  
  
“Oh please. You wear tight jeans all the time.”  
  
“Not like this.” Richie finally got the pants all the way up and zipped them. “What do you think?”  
  
Patrick couldn’t stop ogling him. “You look _so_ fucking hot. Seriously. Oh my God, Richie.”  
  
“You want me to try on the shirt too?” Richie smiled, enjoying the effect he was having on him.  
  
“No. Fuck, just come here.” Patrick crossed the room quickly, anxious to get his hands on him.  
  
Richie kissed him, wrapping his arms around him. “If I’d known you were so into dressing up…” he teased.  
  
Patrick laughed. “Maybe you could pretend to arrest me,” he mused, his mind racing with possibilities, “and then, I’ll give you the most amazing blowjob so you’ll drop the charges.”  
  
“Mmm, that sounds good.” Richie backed him up into the bed.  
  
Patrick flopped down on his back, laughing, and Richie climbed on top of him. “Please, have mercy on me, officer.”  
  
“Your punishment is gonna be long and hard,” Richie warned. “Was that too cliché?” he asked, breaking character.  
  
“No, I thought it was hot.”  
  
They were distracted by the ringtone from Richie’s phone. He had left it in the living room.  
  
“Damn, I have to get that,” he grumbled, reluctantly pulling away.  
  
“No, don’t,” Patrick whined.  
  
“I have to, Pato,” Richie reminded him.  
  
Patrick understood why. They were still waiting for test results, a week and a half later. Any call could be the one. It put a knot in his stomach every time the phone rang.  
  
Richie went to the living room to grab the phone, still wearing his sexy CHiPs costume. Patrick noticed when he walked away that his butt looked really nice in it too.  
  
When Richie didn’t come back after a minute, Patrick got up from the bed and went to find him.  
  
He was sitting on the couch, listening to someone on the other end of the phone. The tearful, devastated expression on his face told Patrick everything he needed to know.  
  
\--  
  
“I don’t know what I’m gonna say to my Mom,” Richie said, his voice thick. He had avoided mentioning anything to her about cancer, until they knew for sure.  
  
Patrick put an arm around him and rested his chin on his shoulder. There was no easy way around it. Dolores would be heartbroken.  
  
“God, I can’t believe this is really happening,” Richie said, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.  
  
Patrick pulled another tissue out of the box on the coffee table and handed it to him. “Maybe it isn’t,” he suggested.  
  
“What do you mean?” Richie asked.  
  
“Maybe they got it wrong. Doctors misdiagnose all the time, right?” Patrick was clinging to any shred of hope he could find. If there was any way to keep Richie from having to go through this, he would jump on it.  
  
“No, Pato,” Richie told him sadly. “Dr. Weston sees hundreds of patients. He’s been practicing for, like, twenty years. If he says it’s cancer, then it’s cancer.”  
  
“Oh,” Patrick said, his heart sinking. The surgeon had told Richie over the phone that he had aggressive B cell lymphoma – and that was basically all he would say, insisting that the oncologist would have to answer any other questions.  
  
“I have to get out of these pants,” Richie said, rising from the couch. He went into the bedroom to change out of his Halloween costume.  
  
Patrick was left sitting alone in the living room, his body thrumming with panic. Minutes ticked by and he didn’t notice, until he heard Richie on the phone in the bedroom.  
  
“Mamá, tengo algunas malas noticias que necesito decirte.” _(Mamá, I have some bad news that I need to tell you)._ Richie’s voice was choked with tears. “I have cancer.”  
  
Patrick got up and went to the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a bag of candy that they had bought to hand out to trick or treaters.  
  
Chiquita circled his feet anxiously, then followed him back to the living room.  
  
Patrick ripped open the bag, settling on the couch. He unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into his mouth.


	2. Side Effects

“No, seriously Agustín, we’re totally fine.” Patrick pulled two plates out of the kitchen cabinet while he balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear. “I don’t know why everyone expects me to be having this huge meltdown.”

“Uh, maybe because Richie’s starting chemo tomorrow and that’s kind of a big deal?” Agustín suggested.

“Yeah, it is,” Patrick frowned, “but his oncologist said his prognosis is really good – he has an 80% chance of being cured.”

“80% is really good, Paddy.”

“I know, right?” Patrick said brightly. “So we just have to get chemo and radiation out of the way and then everything should be fine.”

“Are you sure you’re doing ok, Paddy?” Agustín asked, obviously concerned.

“Yeah, of course,” Patrick answered, exasperated. “Like I said, we’re totally fine.”

“Right. Totally fine.” Agustín said, mimicking his tone.

“Pato, the pizza’s here,” Richie said, walking up behind him.

Patrick nodded at him. “Pizza just got here,” he told Agustín. “We’re going to eat and finish watching the new season of Stranger Things.”

“Oh, it’s really good.”

“No spoilers!” Patrick warned. “I’ll call you after we’re done.”

“Ok, I promise I won’t spoil anything for you,” Agustín said. “Love ya, Paddy. Give Richie a hug for me.”

“I will,” Patrick smiled. He appreciated how supportive his friends were being. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to go through this in Texas, so far away from them.

Richie was on the couch with his feet up, the pizza box open on the coffee table, when Patrick came into the living room. “How’s Agustín doing?” he asked, biting into a slice of pepperoni pizza.

“He’s good.” Patrick grabbed a slice and snuggled up beside Richie on the couch. “It sounds like they’re going ahead with that photo book thing for the shelter.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll raise a lot of money,” Patrick said, his mouth full of pizza. “Do you have the remote?”

“Uh, yeah.” Richie picked up the remote, but instead of turning on the TV, he looked over at Patrick, concern on his face. “I wanted to ask you something though.”

“Hmm, what?” Patrick asked innocently, still chewing.

“We haven’t really talked about tomorrow. I was just wondering how you’re feeling about it, if you’re nervous or anything.” Richie searched his face for an answer.

“Am _I_ nervous? You’re the one getting chemo.”

“I know,” Richie nodded. “Believe me, I know. I just get worried sometimes about how you’re dealing with all of this. I don’t want you to bottle things up inside. It’s not good for you, Pato.”

Patrick’s eyes misted up. It was so like Richie to be concerned about _him_ , when he was the one facing cancer treatments. He wondered, not for the first time, why this was happening to such an amazing person. It didn’t seem fair.

“Hey,” Richie said, noticing his tears. He put his arms around him. “Are you scared? _I’m_ scared.”

“Yeah,” Patrick admitted, wiping his eyes hastily with his sleeve. He had to pull himself together. He didn’t want Richie to be worrying about him, on top of everything else. “But I did some googling last night,” he said, switching gears, “and I took some notes about everything we’re going to need to bring.”

“Like what?” Richie asked curiously.

“Well, it said you can bring an iPad or a book – are you reading anything right now? We could also bring boardgames. I know that sounds a little weird, but people actually do it, to pass the time.”

“Pato,” Richie smiled.

“I just want to be prepared,” Patrick explained.

“Yeah, that’s alright, if it helps you,” Richie told him, sounding unsure.

“It does,” Patrick insisted. “It’s always good to be well informed and have everything planned out in advance.”

Richie patted his knee. “Dr. Li has been really helpful about answering questions for me, if you want to ask him anything. It might be good to talk to someone in person, instead of just going to websites.”

“I know,” Patrick picked at the toppings on his pizza slice. “Dom’s already given me the lecture about staying off WebMD.”

“And all the other websites,” Richie added, reaching for another slice. “And message boards and youtube videos…”

“Ok, ok,” Patrick laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I promise I’ll stop googling shit. Now can we please finish bingeing this show? I’m dying to know what happens.”

“Alright,” Richie grinned, grabbing the remote. “Be good or maybe I’ll send _you_ to The Upside Down.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick giggled, snuggling up against him. “I’d just drag you with me anyway.”

Richie pressed play and slung an arm around Patrick’s shoulders.

\--

Patrick finished brushing his teeth and spit into the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing the tiredness in his face and the dark circles underneath his eyes. They had a big day ahead of them tomorrow and, no matter how much planning he did, he still felt anxious and afraid.

“Padre todopoderoso y misericordioso, por el poder de tu mandato…” _(Almighty and merciful Father, by the power of your command)_

Patrick paused in the hallway outside the bedroom door, not wanting to interrupt Richie’s prayer.

“Alejarme de todas las formas de enfermedad y enfermedad. Devuelve la fuerza a mi cuerpo y alegra a mi espíritu, para que en mi renovada salud, te bendiga y te sirva. Amén.” _(Drive away from me all forms of sickness and disease. Restore strength to my body and joy to my spirit, so that in my renewed health, I may bless and serve you. Amen)._ Richie did the sign of the cross and got up off his knees. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Patrick standing there.

Patrick smiled at him. He had never heard Richie pray before, but it seemed like a good idea. They needed all the help they could get.

\--

The waiting room was filled with other cancer patients, all at various stages in their treatment. Patrick tried not to gawk, keeping his face buried in a magazine. The awareness was slowly dawning on him that this was their reality now. Richie might soon look just as sick and emaciated as the man sitting across from them. Patrick’s chest tightened and his hands trembled.

“Ricardo,” the nurse finally called.

Richie stood up, a panic stricken expression on his face.

“Hey,” Patrick grabbed his arm and looked him in the eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you, ok?”

“Yeah,” Richie gave a small nod. He held his hand while they walked with the nurse through a hallway and into an exam room.

\--

“That’s good. You’ve already got your port in,” the nurse remarked while she inserted a needle.  
  
“Yeah, Dr. Li said I needed to get one,” Richie told her. The port-a-catheter had been implanted under the skin on his chest, leaving a small lump there. With it, the nurse would be able to inject him with chemo medicines without having to go directly into his veins.  
  
Patrick cringed watching the needle go in. Richie winced and squeezed his hand.  
  
“It can take several hours before we’re finished with the process, so if you want to relax and watch some TV, that’s just fine,” the nurse said in a soothing tone.  
  
“I brought a blanket – and my iPad,” Patrick explained, holding up a bag.  
  
The nurse smiled. “See, you’ve got someone looking out for you.”  
  
Richie grinned and patted his arm.  
  
“Let me know if you need anything,” Patrick told him. “I can you get a drink or something to eat.”  
  
“No, I’m good right now, Pato,” Richie said. “Can I have that blanket though? It’s a little cold in here.”  
  
“Oh yeah, sure.” Patrick jumped up and took the blanket out of the bag, spreading it over his lap. “Is that better?”  
  
“Hmhm,” Richie smiled at him sleepily.  
  
“You might be feeling the effects of the relaxation drugs,” the nurse explained.  
  
“Pato,” Richie murmured, his eyelids drooping.  
  
“It’s alright,” Patrick assured him. “You can take a nap if you need to.”  
  
“Yeah, I might do that,” Richie said, closing his eyes.  
  
\--  
  
When Richie was asleep, Patrick slipped out into the hallway. He had told the nurse that he was going to the restroom, but he didn’t really need to pee, he just needed air. There was a door at the end of the hall that opened into the parking lot. Patrick charged toward it, pushing it open.  
  
Once outside, he gasped for breath, taking in huge gulps of air. He felt like he was having a panic attack. Patrick leaned against the outside wall of the hospital, his breathing slowly returning to normal.  
  
Being in the cancer unit and sitting beside Richie while he received treatment had been even harder than he’d imagined. Tears slid down his cheeks and he sobbed loudly, not caring if anyone saw or heard him.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick went to the men’s room and washed his face before returning to Richie. He was just starting to wake up from his nap.  
  
“Pato,” he rasped, his throat hoarse. “I feel like I need a cough drop or something.”  
  
Patrick frowned, leaning over him. “I don’t have any - but I saw a cart with juice boxes on it. Do you want me to get you one?”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie nodded weakly.  
  
“Ok,” Patrick touched his cheek. “I’ll get you some juice and then maybe we can find something to watch on TV.”  
  
“That sounds good,” Richie smiled. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Pato.”  
  
“Me too,” Patrick said, kissing his forehead. “Anything you need, just let me know.”  
  
\--  
  
“We made it,” Patrick breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled into the parking lot of their apartment building. Richie had been feeling nauseous throughout the drive and he was anxious to get him inside.  
  
“I can get out on my own. I’m good,” Richie claimed, when Patrick tried to help him.  
  
“Ok, but if you want to hold my arm or anything…”  
  
“No, it’s fine, Pato.”  
  
They walked across the parking lot, Patrick keeping a close eye on Richie the whole way. They had almost reached the steps leading up to their apartment when Richie stopped.  
  
“I’m going to be sick,” he said, putting a hand over his mouth.  
  
“Oh shit,” Patrick looked around, panicked. They were nowhere near a bathroom, but there were some shrubs and greenery nearby. He guided Richie towards it.  
  
“Oh God,” Richie gasped. He leaned over and heaved into the bushes while Patrick rubbed his back.  
  
\--  
  
When they finally made it upstairs to their apartment, Patrick unlocked the door and flicked on the light. Richie leaned against him while he led him to their bedroom. He was too weak to pretend anymore that he didn’t need help.  
  
Patrick took off his shoes and helped him get undressed. Richie collapsed on top of the bed, too tired to get under the covers. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he murmured into his pillow.  
  
“Get some sleep, you’ll feel better,” Patrick told him. He grabbed a blanket, an afghan that Richie’s mother had given them for Christmas, and draped it over him. Then he clicked off the lamp and lay down beside him.  
  
Richie fell asleep while Patrick laid in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. His heart thudded in his chest and he felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. It crept up slowly until he was engulfed in it. Tears fell from his eyes, soaking the pillow underneath him.  
  
\--  
  
“Lo sé, mamá. Estoy descansando mucho. Patrick se cuida bien de mí.” _(I know, Mamá. I am getting plenty of rest. Patrick takes good care of me)._ Richie looked up at him and smirked.  
  
Patrick didn’t know what he had said, but he assumed that it was good. He was busy chopping vegetables for a salad that would go with their dinner. They had decided to change their diets and try to eat more organic.  
  
“Tell Jackie and Elena not to worry about me."  
  
So far, the new diet wasn’t going very well, since Patrick had slipped up and eaten fast food for lunch. He figured it might have to be tiny changes for a while, instead of one big switch.  
  
“Te quiero. Talk to you soon.” Richie ended the call and went back to the stove, where he had been preparing to sautée some chicken strips.  
  
“How’s your Mom?” Patrick asked.  
  
Richie shrugged. “She’s just trying to hold it together, you know.”  
  
“Yeah.” Patrick could definitely relate to that feeling. They had finished Richie’s first cycle of chemo and they had three weeks to recuperate before the next round.  
  
“I told her to come by sometime,” Richie said, flipping the chicken with a spatula. “Maybe if she sees me in person she’ll realize that I’m ok and she won’t worry so much.”  
  
“That’s a good idea.”  
  
Richie’s phone buzzed where he’d left it on the counter. Patrick glanced over at it. “It’s your Mom again.”  
  
“Really? She probably hit re-dial by accident. Will you get it?” Richie had nearly finished browning the chicken pieces.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Patrick picked up the phone and greeted her. “Hi, Dolores.”  
  
There was a pause on the other end of the line and then a gruff male voice spoke to him. “I want to talk to Ricardo,” he said sternly.  
  
Patrick slowly realized who he was talking to. “Um, yeah, sure.” He held the phone away from his face and whispered urgently to Richie, “I think it’s your Dad.”  
  
Richie almost dropped his spatula. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“No, I’m completely fucking serious. It’s your Dad.” Patrick wasn’t sure if Richie would even take the call. There had been no communication between him and his Dad for over two years and neither of them had made any attempt to reconcile.  
  
Richie glared at the phone for a minute and then took it from him. “Dad?” he asked tersely.  
  
Patrick took the spatula out of Richie’s hand and finished sautéing the chicken for him.  
  
“Me canso de la quimioterapia. Pero el doctor dice que estoy respondiendo bien hasta ahora.” _(I get tired from chemo. But the doctor says I’m responding well so far)._ Richie told him.  
  
Patrick set out two plates and some silverware on the kitchen counter. He was very curious to know what Richie was talking about with his Dad. It seemed to be a polite exchange, which was surprising.  
  
“Uh,” Richie hesitated, glancing over at Patrick. “No estoy seguro. Tendré que pensar en ello.” _(I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it)._  
  
Patrick picked up a pair of tongs and scooped salad onto their plates. He studied Richie’s face, trying to gauge his conflicted expression.  
  
“Uh huh. Gracias. Good night,” Richie said before ending the call.  
  
“What was that about?” Patrick blurted out.  
  
“I don’t know,” Richie responded. “He asked how I was feeling. It was really fucking weird.”  
  
“Maybe he’s worried about you,” Patrick suggested, handing him a plate of food.  
  
“Yeah,” Richie took the plate from him and sat down at the kitchen table. “It’s just that we haven’t talked in such a long time. I wasn’t expecting him to call me out of nowhere and be so…” he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.  
  
“So what?” Patrick asked, sitting down next to him.  
  
“Nice,” Richie finished. “He was very nice and respectful.”  
  
“Your Dad’s not usually like that,” Patrick assumed, forking a bite of salad into his mouth.  
  
“No,” Richie laughed darkly. “Not to me anyway.”  
  
“Hmm,” Patrick thought about it while he chewed a mouthful of food. “Do you think he wants to try to have a relationship with you?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, it kind of seemed that way,” Richie admitted. “He asked if I would mind if he called sometimes.”  
  
“Whoa,” Patrick was really surprised by that. “What did you tell him?”  
  
Richie took a bite of chicken. “I told him I need to think about it.”  
  
Patrick nodded sympathetically. Richie was already going through so much. The last thing he needed was a homophobic Dad getting thrown into the mix.  
  
“This chicken is really good,” Richie said, changing the subject.  
  
“Mmhm,” Patrick agreed. “And it’s farm raised, so it’s supposed to be better for us.”  
  
Richie looked puzzled. “Aren’t all chickens raised on farms?”  
  
Patrick struggled to find an answer to that. “Um, I think so? They’re supposed to be. Maybe some chickens are raised in, like, buildings or something? I don’t know.”  
  
Richie grinned. “Urban, hipster chickens.”  
  
Patrick laughed. “Exactly. These are real, country chickens, not douchey chickens who cut in line at Starbucks.”  
  
Richie chuckled and scooped up another bite.  
  
Patrick watched him eat, grateful that the nausea he had experienced after chemo had subsided – at least for now. His appetite was less than normal, but at least he was keeping food in his stomach. “Oh,” he said, jumping up from the table. “I almost forgot – I bought something for dessert.”  
  
Richie smiled. “I thought we were supposed to be eating healthy.”  
  
“Cupcakes can be good for you,” Patrick claimed, taking the box out of the cupboard where he’d stashed it.  
  
Richie didn’t need much persuading, especially when he saw that they were from his favorite bakery in San Francisco.  
  
Patrick held one up to his mouth and Richie nibbled at it. “It’s good, right?”  
  
“Uh huh,” Richie pulled him closer, eating right out of his hand.  
  
Patrick started to feel a little heated, especially when Richie’s tongue swept over his palm. The fact that he was giving him the sex eyes didn’t hurt either.  
  
Richie got up from his chair. His arms circled Patrick’s waist and he leaned in, kissing him.  
  
Patrick giggled. “You taste like chocolate frosting,” he said, before kissing him again.  
  
\--  
  
“Shit. I’m sorry.” Richie pulled away from him, lying on his back and breathing hard. They were in bed, naked, and he was having trouble getting aroused. It was profoundly embarrassing and nothing they did seemed to help.  
  
“It’s ok if you’re not there yet,” Patrick said gently. “Do you want me to suck on your balls? You’ve always liked that. Or we could get out some toys…”  
  
“No, there’s no point,” Richie said defeatedly. “It’s the chemo – they warned me that I wouldn’t be able to get hard while I’m on it.”  
  
“Oh. Shit,” Patrick frowned.  
  
”Yeah, exactly.” Richie was disappointed. “I thought, ‘No way, that’s not gonna be a problem for me…’”  
  
Patrick brightened. “You could get a prescription for Viagra.”  
  
“Oh my God. No,” Richie groaned, covering his face with his hands. “That’s so humiliating, Patrick. How could I walk into the pharmacy and ask for that?”  
  
“It’s kind of our only option,” Patrick pointed out. “Otherwise, we just won’t fuck for the next four months.”  
  
“No, I don’t want that,” Richie grumbled.  
  
Patrick kissed him. “It’ll be a temporary embarrassment with a _really_ good reward. I promise.”  
  
Richie sighed, clearly not thrilled with the idea. “In the mean time,” he muttered, flipping him over on his back. He kissed his way down Patrick’s chest, to his belly button, and then even lower.  
  
\--  
  
“Goddammit,” Patrick complained, when he lifted up his next card. “Why do I keep having to move back a space?”  
  
“It’s rigged, Pato,” Richie laughed. “Only cancer patients get to make it to the Candy Castle.”  
  
They were back in the treatment room, passing the time with a game of Candy Land. So far, Patrick was losing badly.  
  
Richie reached into a bag of lemon drops and popped one into his mouth. It helped get rid of the awful taste of the medicine that was being pumped into his chest. “Be careful you don’t end up in Molasses Swamp again.”  
  
“Seriously. That Swamp can go fuck itself.” Patrick looked up at Richie and smiled at him. If they stayed busy and kept the mood light, it helped the day go faster.  
  
“I’m glad your boss is being so understanding about you needing to be here,” Richie told him, while he drew a card and moved up a space.  
  
“I know. Thank God.” Patrick had been able to get some time off, but he had also brought his laptop so he could get work done while Richie was receiving treatment. “Everyone has been really nice and supportive – it’s amazing how many people have been through this or know someone who’s been through this.”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie agreed. “My uncle died from lung cancer – my Dad’s brother.”  
  
“Shit. Really?” Patrick had never heard that before.  
  
“Uh huh. It happened when I was little,” Richie told him. “My Dad never talked about it, but my Mom said they were really close.”  
  
“That’s so sad,” Patrick frowned.  
  
“Aha!” Richie suddenly exclaimed. “I made it to the Candy Castle!”  
  
“Motherfucker,” Patrick laughed. “You definitely cheated – I don’t know how, but you did.”  
  
“I’ve got my ways,” Richie smirked at him mysteriously.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick awoke in the early hours of the morning. He reached over to Richie’s side of the bed and was startled to find that he wasn’t there. The light shone from under the bathroom door and he could hear noises coming from inside.  
  
“Richie?” Patrick got up out of bed and pulled on his underwear.  
  
He tapped on the door and when he didn’t get a response, he turned the knob and cracked it open.  
  
“Don’t come in,” Richie warned. He was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, pale and naked. It looked like he hadn’t quite made it to the bowl in time. There was vomit splattered on the floor right inside the doorway.  
  
Patrick ignored his request, pushing the door open even further.  
  
“I _said_ don’t come in,” Richie protested. “I don’t want you seeing me like this.”  
  
“What am I supposed to do, go back to bed and leave you here all night?” Patrick grabbed a wet towel and used it to try to mop up the floor. He stepped over the towel to get to Richie, putting his arms around him and lifting him up.  
  
“I can walk on my own,” Richie claimed, even though it definitely didn’t seem that way.  
  
“I know you can,” Patrick said, not wanting to injure his pride anymore than it already had been, “but let me help anyway.”  
  
When they got to the bed, Richie climbed in gratefully and Patrick pulled the covers over him.  
  
“Go back to sleep, ok?” Patrick said, stroking his hair.  
  
Richie nodded weakly.  
  
Patrick grabbed a trash can and placed it on Richie’s side, in case there were any more emergencies, then got into bed beside him.  
  
\--  
  
“My name is Patrick Murray,” Patrick repeated exasperatedly. “I’m Richie Donado’s partner. I need to speak with Dr. Li about the side effects he’s been having. The anti-nausea meds don’t seem to be working and I was hoping…”  
  
“Sir,” the nurse interrupted. “First of all, I can’t find a Richie Donado in our records…”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Patrick sighed. “It’s probably under Donado-Ventura? Ricardo Donado-Ventura? Does that help?”  
  
“Ah, yes it does,” she answered. “But I’m afraid we can’t discuss his medical condition with you over the phone. We would need Mr. Donado-Ventura to sign an authorization form.”  
  
“I know. I thought he already signed it.” Patrick was getting frustrated. He would put Richie on the phone, but he was still sleeping and he didn’t want to wake him up after the rough night he’d had.  
  
“I don’t see it in our records,” she informed him. “If you could have him get in touch with us we’d be happy to discuss it with him.”  
  
“Sure,” Patrick shot back irritably. “As soon as he has the strength to pick up a phone, I’ll have him call you.” He hung up before she could respond.  
  
\--  
  
Richie was sitting up in bed when Patrick came in with a case of saltines and a bottle of Ginger Ale. “Ugh,” he winced.  
  
“Hey,” Patrick warned. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”  
  
“I feel like shit,” Richie grumbled.  
  
“I know. I know you do,” Patrick frowned. “I called Dr. Li’s office to let them know that the anti-nausea meds aren’t working.”  
  
“What did they say?” Richie asked, taking a tentative sip of Ginger Ale.  
  
“They wouldn’t talk to me,” Patrick admitted. “They said you need to sign some kind of permission form before they can tell me anything.”  
  
“I _did_ sign it,” Richie insisted.  
  
“Really? I wonder why they couldn’t find it.” Patrick chewed on a saltine.  
  
Richie gave him a pointed look.  
  
“What? You think they were being homophobic?” Patrick couldn’t believe that. The staff was always polite when they visited the doctor’s office. “Maybe they just lost it or something.”  
  
“I’m just saying, Pato.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” Patrick _had_ mentioned more than once what their relationship was. He just didn’t like the idea that he had been deliberately shut out. “You need to clear it up with them. I mean, what if something really bad happened and I couldn’t get through?”  
  
“I’ll fix it. Don’t worry,” Richie assured him.  
  
Patrick leaned against his shoulder and Richie ruffled his hair. He hadn’t been able to get back to sleep the night before and he was feeling it now.  
  
“I need to tell you something,” Richie said softly.  
  
“Hmm, what?” Patrick asked sleepily.  
  
“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you about it before. I guess I just didn’t want to give you one more thing to stress out over.”  
  
Patrick’s stomach dropped. “Oh God, what?”  
  
“Don’t worry, Pato,” Richie said soothingly. “It’s not bad – I promise.”  
  
“Ok,” Patrick said, his heart rate returning to normal. “What is it then?”  
  
“Right after I got my diagnosis, I was talking to Dr. Li about possible side effects from chemo and he mentioned that there might be a risk of infertility.”  
  
“Oh,” Patrick couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t saddened by that. Whenever he’d thought about having children with Richie, he’d hoped that they would resemble him. It didn’t _have_ to be that way, but it would have been nice.  
  
“And I know we haven’t really talked about _how_ we would have kids – or even when - but I thought it might be a good idea to, you know, save it.”  
  
“You froze your sperm?” Patrick exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Because, I just, I don’t know,” Richie stammered, unable to explain it. “You seemed like you were spiraling out and I didn’t want to add to that. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”  
  
“Yeah, you should have,” Patrick agreed.  
  
“At least this way,” Richie continued, “if, God forbid, the worst happens, you could still…”  
  
“What? Have a baby without you?” Patrick finished for him, appalled. “No fucking way.”  
  
“Patrick.”  
  
“I’m actually fine with the fact that you froze your sperm,” Patrick said, jumping up from the bed. “I’m totally fine with it - and maybe someday we’ll take it out of storage and mix it together with mine, but I will _definitely_ not be taking it out by myself.”  
  
“I’m just saying, we have to look at our future realistically and make plans. It’s not guaranteed, Pato. It never was,” Richie said wearily.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick nodded, his eyes tearing up. “Why don’t you take it even further? You could write your will, pick out a funeral home…”  
  
“Pato, c’mere.” Richie slowly got out of bed and tried to pull on some clothes. He was still weak from being sick all night.  
  
“No. Stay in bed,” Patrick said, wiping his eyes. “Save your strength.”  
  
Richie came over to him anyway and hugged him.  
  
Patrick stubbornly refused to hug him back at first and then he relented. Richie gave the best hugs. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like to not be able to have his arms around him.  
  
“I’m sorry, Pato,” Richie said. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”  
  
“I know.” Patrick buried his face in his neck and closed his eyes. “I just really fucking hate this.”  
  
\--  
  
“Paddy!” Dom and Agustín called out, waving to him from the bar.  
  
Patrick weaved through the crowd of Saturday night clubgoers, an old Britney track playing loudly over the music system. When he finally reached his friends, they came together for a group hug. “I’ve missed you guys,” he sighed.  
  
“We’ve missed you too,” Dom said.  
  
“Hey, how’s Richie doing?” Agustín asked.  
  
Patrick leaned against the bar, trying to get someone’s attention to bring him a drink. “He’s doing better,” he told them. “The doctor’s going to adjust his anti-nausea meds when he gets his next round of chemo, so hopefully, cross your fingers, no more projectile vomiting.”  
  
“Ugh,” Agustín frowned.  
  
“But, you know what I really want to do tonight?” Patrick asked, talking loudly over the music. “I want to drink and dance with my friends and not hear one single fucking word about cancer.”  
  
“Absolutely,” Dom agreed, patting him on the shoulder. “Blow off some steam.”  
  
The bartender finally came over and Patrick ordered a margarita. He had left Richie back at the apartment with his mother. They had needed some time alone. Dolores was distraught, to put it mildly.  
  
“I’m sorry we missed your Halloween party, by the way,” he told Agustín.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Agustín shrugged. “You didn’t miss much.”  
  
Patrick knew he was just saying that to make him feel better. He had seen pictures of the wild night on Facebook. “God, this is so good,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ve been way too sober recently. Richie can’t drink and I feel guilty if I even have a beer in front of him.”  
  
“Well, we’re gonna fix that tonight,” Agustín promised him. “One more for my friend,” he called out to the bartender. “It’s on me.”  
  
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Patrick said.  
  
“Please. I owe you, like, thousands of dollars in rent,” Agustín pointed out.  
  
“I know, but it’s still sweet,” Patrick smiled at him. “Where’s Eddie tonight? Is he coming?”  
  
“No, he’s at home, hopefully remembering to DVR ‘Drag Race.’”  
  
“He did an amazing ‘Lip Sync for Your Life’ at the Halloween party,” Dom chimed in.  
  
“Really?” Patrick laughed. “What song?”  
  
“Firework,” Agustín grinned, “and he was literally dressed as a firework, so it was perfect.”  
  
“Oh my God, that’s so hilarious.” Patrick tried to remember what he and Richie had done on Halloween. He knew they had gone to his doctor’s office for the first appointment after his diagnosis. Everything after that was a blur.  
  
“Speaking of…” Dom said, as a Katy Perry song came over the music system.  
  
“Yeah, c’mon, let’s dance,” Agustín grabbed Patrick’s arm.  
  
“You guys go first,” Patrick said. “I’m just going to finish my drink. I’ll be right there.”  
  
Dom and Agustín wandered off, disappearing into the crowd on the dance floor.  
  
Patrick took out his phone and found Richie in his contacts. He typed out a text. _Miss you. Wish you were here._  
  
Richie responded quickly. _Me too. Mom says hi. :) Love you._  
  
Patrick typed back _I love you too._ Then he put his phone away and downed the rest of his drink.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick ended up on the dance floor with Dom. They danced together until they were both sweaty, music thumping in their ears.  
  
Dom gazed over his shoulder at a blonde, muscular gentleman who leered back at him.  
  
“Wha’s the deal with you and Michael anyway?” Patrick asked, noticing where he was looking. He was drunk, but he wasn’t completely unobservant.  
  
“What do you mean?” Dom shouted over the music.  
  
“You know what I mean – are you fucking other people?” Patrick hadn’t heard any interesting Grindr stories from Dom recently, but he _had_ been out of the loop.  
  
“No,” Dom grinned. “But I _am_ allowed to look.”  
  
“Oh,” Patrick threw an arm around his waist and danced closer to him, mainly just to steady himself. “An’ you’re happy with that?”  
  
“Yeah, I am,” Dom smiled.  
  
“Tha’s good…s’good thing,” Patrick stammered, feeling the effects of the margaritas he’d been guzzling all evening. The room was starting to spin a little bit.  
  
Dom laughed. “I think you’re a little bit wasted, Paddy.”  
  
“Jus’ a little,” Patrick agreed. He had wanted to get numb and forget everything he had been dealing with recently, but so far he hadn’t found the magic number of drinks that would get him there.  
  
“Can I get in on this?” Agustín asked, shimmying over to them.  
  
“Yesss,” Patrick slurred, throwing his arms around him. “My bes’ friend, ‘m so happy you’re happy.”  
  
“Paddy,” Agustín chuckled, dodging the spit flying from his mouth.  
  
“An’ Dom is happy too,” Patrick continued. “An' I _was_ , but now my life is a fucking mess,” he laughed darkly.  
  
“Hey,” Dom said, concerned. “Maybe we should go get you some water and cool down a little bit.”  
  
“No, no,” Patrick protested, pushing away the hands on his shoulders. “I’m jus’ fine. I need this, ok? Jus’ blowin’ off steam, like you said.”  
  
Dom gave Agustín a look.  
  
The music changed to a different song and Patrick froze. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.  
  
_“I try to discover, a little something to make me sweeter.”_  
  
“What is it, Paddy?” Agustín asked.  
  
_“Oh baby refrain, from breaking my heart.”_  
  
Patrick shook his head, his eyes filling up with tears. “I need to get the fuck out of here,” he breathed out. He stumbled away from the dance floor, not noticing or caring that he was pushing people out of the way.  
  
“Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!” someone called out.  
  
Patrick was vaguely aware of Agustín and Dom following behind him, but he didn’t slow down to let them catch up.  
  
When he finally made it outside, he gripped the wall to steady himself. Tears were running down his face and he choked out a painful sob.  
  
“Hey, Paddy,” he heard Agustín say softly. He felt his hand on his back.  
  
“We’re here for you, if you need to talk,” Dom added.  
  
“I jus’ can’ do this,” Patrick whispered.  
  
“Do what?” Dom asked.  
  
Patrick turned to look at him, scrubbing a hand over his face. “ _This._ All of it. Richie’s the strong, patient one. He puts up with me and takes care of me and deals with my shit. I don’ know how to be that for him.”  
  
“You’re doing fine,” Agustín told him.  
  
“No,” Patrick shook his head. “I’m a fucking mess. I wait until he goes to sleep or to work so he doesn’t see me crying. I’m tired _all_ the time, I have nightmares…”  
  
“Oh, Paddy.” Dom reached out and hugged him.  
  
“You’re going to get through this,” Agustín said, rubbing his back gently.  
  
“What if we _don’t_?” Patrick demanded, his voice getting higher. “What if he doesn’t fucking survive this?”  
  
“He has an 80% percent chance of getting better,” Agustín pointed out.  
  
“Those are great odds,” Dom agreed.  
  
“What about the other 20% percent, huh?” Patrick practically shouted, a sob catching in his throat. “There’s a 20% percent chance he gets taken away from me. What if…what if this is all we get? Two goddamn perfect years together and then it’s over?”  
  
People walking past them on the street were starting to slow down and stare. “Nothing to see here,” Dom said, shooing them away.  
  
“You can’t look at it like that, Paddy,” Agustín said.  
  
“We could have had more time and I wasted it all on Kevin,” Patrick lamented. “Fuck him.”  
  
“Listen to me, ok?” Dom said, gripping his shoulders and shaking him a little bit. He forced him to look in his eyes. “You and Richie are going to have plenty of time together. Agustín and I are going to step up and help you guys get through this – and you _will_ get through it. I know you will.”  
  
“How do you know?” Patrick asked.  
  
“I just do,” Dom said. “So much progress is being made with cancer treatment – new drugs are coming out all the time.”  
  
“Richie has great doctors,” Agustín pointed out. “And he’s getting the best care available.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dom said. “His chances are really good – especially since they caught it early.”  
  
Patrick was too exhausted and too drunk to argue with them about it. “Yeah,” he finally relented, slumping against Dom.  
  
Agustín slung an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go to Orphan Andy’s and get some food. We need to sober you up.”  
  
“A patty melt sounds good,” Patrick admitted, allowing his friends to guide him away from the club.  
  
“I thought we just had one,” Dom muttered under his breath.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick took BART back to Oakland around midnight. They had gone to Orphan Andy’s and talked it out, over eggs and coffee. He had told Dom and Agustín everything – about the horribleness of chemo and all the weird side effects. He had even told them about Richie getting his sperm frozen. It had been cathartic and he felt like some of the weight had been lifted off his shoulders.  
  
A light shone from their apartment window. Patrick opened the door and kicked off his shoes. Richie was on the couch, watching TV, a joint clutched in his fingers.  
  
“Is that medicinal?” Patrick smiled.  
  
Richie chuckled. “Sure, Pato.”  
  
Patrick walked over and flopped onto the couch next to him. He cuddled up against Richie until he was practically in his lap, happy to feel his arms around him.  
  
“Did you have fun tonight?” Richie grinned. “You smell like you did.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Patrick nodded, taking the joint from him and putting it in his mouth. He took a long drag while he thought about what he needed to say to Richie. He had been honest to his friends, now he had to be honest with him too.  
  
“You alright?” Richie asked, noticing his somber expression.  
  
Patrick hesitated, passing the joint back to him. “Um, no,” he said, looking him in the eyes. “It’s, uh…this is all just really hard,” he admitted, a tear sliding down his cheek.  
  
“Oh, baby, c’mere,” Richie said, pulling him into his arms and stroking his hair. “You’ve been too stressed out.”  
  
Patrick wept on his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”  
  
“You think I couldn’t tell?” Richie asked. “I know you, Pato. I can feel it when you’re upset.”  
  
“I want to be supportive and help you get better, but sometimes it seems like I’m…I don’t know, just fucking useless, I guess.” Patrick hated telling him this, but it needed to be said.  
  
“That’s not true,” Richie told him. “Don’t ever think that, ok? You help me so much – just having you with me makes me feel stronger.”  
  
“I can’t fix it though,” Patrick said softly. That was the hardest part of all of it. He couldn’t wave a magic wand and make the cancer go away.  
  
“No,” Richie agreed, kissing his cheek and hugging him tighter. “We’ve just gotta let the medicine do it’s job and hope for the best.”  
  
“I can’t stand seeing you in pain. It breaks my heart,” Patrick confessed.  
  
“Me too, Pato,” Richie said, brushing away his tears.  
  
They stayed there on the couch, holding each other and talking quietly, for a long time. When Patrick’s eyelids started to droop, Richie took his hand and led him to the bedroom.


	3. Healing

“Headache, dizziness, blurred vision,” Patrick stood at the kitchen counter, reading the list of side effects aloud. “This sounds kind of dangerous.”  
  
Richie popped the blue pill into his mouth and washed it down with a glass of water. “All medicines have side effects, Pato.”  
  
“I know. I’m just saying, if we’re fucking and your vision starts to go, we should probably stop.”  
  
Richie laughed. He came up behind Patrick and put his arms around his waist. “How long does it take before it kicks in?”  
  
Patrick scanned the page. “Thirty minutes to an hour.”  
  
“Hmm,” Richie nuzzled his throat. “You wanna go to the other room and get started?”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick smiled. He turned to face him.  
  
“God,” Richie sighed, kissing him. “I can’t wait to be inside you.”  
  
It had been weeks before they’d even thought about trying anal again. Richie had been too sick. The possibility of getting a Viagra prescription had fallen by the wayside until he was feeling better.  
  
Patrick giggled. “Do you think you might get one of those four hour erections like they talk about in commercials?”  
  
Richie laughed. “You really want me to fuck you for four hours?”  
  
“Hell yeah,” Patrick smirked, tugging down the zipper of Richie’s jeans. He was hopelessly, pathetically horny. All day long, he’d struggled to think about anything else besides finally getting some.  
  
Richie kissed him and lifted up his shirt. “Mmm. Fuck, I want you so bad.”  
  
Patrick nudged him toward the bedroom. “Come with me.”  
  
They shed most of their clothes before they left the kitchen, leaving them piled up on the tile floor and in the hallway.  
  
\--  
  
“Oh. Oh God. Oh shit,” Patrick panted breathlessly.  
  
Richie’s face was buried between his legs, sucking on his cock while two of his fingers stretched him open. “You want more?” he asked.  
  
Patrick nodded helplessly. “Yes, yes, please, more,” he begged.  
  
Richie added a third finger and swallowed him down again.  
  
Patrick groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh God, Richie, I really need you to fuck me. _Please_ tell me the Viagra’s working.”  
  
Richie pulled off and sat back on his heels, happy to show off the results. He was rock hard, his cock flushed and thick.  
  
“Ooh, nice,” Patrick smiled. “Can I have that please?”  
  
Richie grinned, giving himself a few lazy strokes. “Be patient.” He reached over, grabbing a condom off the nightstand.  
  
They couldn’t fuck raw while he was going through chemo. It wasn’t safe – something about the medication being able to transfer into Patrick’s system. Luckily, Richie had remembered to buy a pack of condoms at CVS while he was picking up his prescription.  
  
Patrick watched him roll the condom on and settle between his legs again. “God, you’re so hot,” he sighed.  
  
“So are you,” Richie said, giving him a quick kiss, “Fucking beautiful.” He slowly guided himself in, sighing and cursing under his breath.  
  
Patrick moaned loudly, his mouth falling open and his eyes rolling back in his head. “Holy shit,” he breathed. A smile spread across his face. He had _really_ missed this.  
  
Richie chuckled, brushing a thumb over his lips. “Is that what you needed?”  
  
Patrick nodded, his hands clutching at his shoulders. “ _Yes._ Fuck me, Richie. Fuck me so hard.”  
  
“You got it,” Richie smiled, hitching up his legs and sinking in deeper. He drew back, pulling almost all the way out, and thrust in again.  
  
“Oh God. Yes. Like that. Harder,” Patrick rambled.  
  
Richie rose up on his knees, lifting one of Patrick’s legs up and over his shoulder. He fucked into him at a relentless pace, adjusting the angle so he was nailing him just right.  
  
Patrick gasped, “Oh shit. Oh fuck.”  
  
“You like that,” Richie grinned at him lasciviously, his hair falling down over his forehead. He was relieved to finally be able to reclaim his pride and feel like a man again.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick breathed, writhing underneath him. “You feel so good.”  
  
Their bodies were covered in sweat and the bed was creaking. Richie drove into him, panting heavily.  
  
Patrick’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hang on, with Richie doing such incredible things to his body. He had needed this desperately, they both had.  
  
Richie gripped his sweat slicked thighs, watching his face change when he thrust into him. “You gonna come for me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick gasped, wrapping a hand around his cock. “Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come.”  
  
Richie smiled at him adoringly, rolling his hips. “C’mon, sweetie,” he urged him on. “My love, do it for me…”  
  
Patrick jerked his cock frantically, his thighs shaking and pressure building low. He cried out Richie’s name, his mind going blank. “Oh God.” His body jerked and he arched his back, spilling sticky come all over his fist and belly.  
  
Richie slowed down briefly, then started moving again, rocking into him with an intense expression on his face.  
  
“Come inside me,” Patrick whispered, still catching his breath. “Let me feel you, Richie.”  
  
It took one more thrust before Richie let out a long, guttural moan. His cock throbbed inside of Patrick and he shot into the condom. “Oh shit,” he gasped, collapsing on top of him.  
  
Patrick rubbed circles on his back, speechless.  
  
Richie pulled out and flopped over on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He looked over at Patrick and grinned. “Fucking amazing,” he chuckled hoarsely.  
  
“Thank God for modern medicine,” Patrick giggled.  
  
Richie laughed. “Seriously.”  
  
Patrick propped himself up on an elbow and leaned down to give him a peck on the lips. Richie smiled at him dopily, pulling him close for some sloppy, open mouthed kisses.  
  
“How long…” Patrick asked, between kisses, “…does it work?”  
  
Richie smirked, raising his eyebrows. “Why? You ready to go again already?”  
  
“No,” Patrick chuckled. “Not right now…but maybe later.”  
  
Richie leaned over to throw the condom in a waste basket beside the bed. “Everything should be like normal…at least for the next four hours.”  
  
“Oh, that’s good,” Patrick smiled. “As long as you don’t go blind and we don’t end up sitting in weird bathtubs in the forest.”  
  
Richie laughed, kissing his shoulder. He spooned him, getting quiet for a minute. “I love you, Pato,” he said softly.  
  
Patrick turned his head to look at him. “I love you too.”  
  
\--  
  
Patrick woke up the next morning with a smile on his face. Richie was asleep beside him, his back facing him. The sun was streaming into the room through a crack between the curtains.  
  
The night before had been a much needed break from the stress they’d been under recently. After sex, they had made sandwiches and talked for a while. Patrick was trying to be more open about his feelings – not just for the sake of their relationship, but for his own sanity. So far, it seemed to be helping.  
  
Then, of course, the talking had led to making out, which led to more sex. Patrick had rimmed Richie and then fucked him, before falling asleep in his arms.  
  
Richie stirred, murmuring something in his sleep. Patrick opened his eyes and stretched.  
  
There were strands of black hair scattered on the pillow where Richie’s head was resting. It stood out starkly against the cream colored fabric. Patrick’s heart sank and he closed his eyes again.  
  
\--  
  
The clippers buzzed loudly while Richie shaved his head in front of the bathroom mirror. Patrick sat on the edge of the tub and watched. He knew that he hated having to do this. It was obvious from the pained expression on his face.  
  
“Maybe I should do my eyebrows too,” Richie remarked bitterly.  
  
“No…” Patrick started.  
  
“Why not? They’ll be gone soon anyway.”  
  
Patrick didn’t know what to say. All he could do was sit by and try to be supportive. He watched as pieces of Richie’s hair fell into the sink and onto the floor. Thick, beautiful hair that Richie had carefully styled every morning and happily tested out new products on.  
  
It would grow back, but that didn’t make the experience any less painful.  
  
Richie finally turned the clippers off when there was nothing left to shave off – his facial hair, his eyebrows, and his head had all been buzzed clean. He stared despondently at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing a hand over his bald head.  
  
Patrick put his arms around him and rested his chin on his shoulder.  
  
“What do you think?” Richie asked dejectedly.  
  
Patrick gave him a tearful smile. “I still think you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” he answered honestly.  
  
“Really?” Richie asked skeptically. “Even more than Mark Ruffalo?”  
  
Patrick laughed. “Yes, even hotter than him.”  
  
Richie looked at himself in the mirror again, not quite buying it. He made a sour face at his reflection. “I hope it grows back fast.”  
  
“It will,” Patrick promised, rubbing his shoulders.  
  
\--  
  
“Oh my God, it’s so good to see you guys.” Patrick hugged Agustín and Eddie, gesturing for them to come in the apartment.  
  
“We brought lasagna,” Eddie declared, holding up the casserole dish. “It’s my Mom’s recipe, made with love and guaranteed to put a smile on your face.”  
  
“And I brought weed,” Agustín grinned, “also made with love – I’m guessing. Who knows?”  
  
“Thank you,” Patrick grinned. “How thoughtful.”  
  
“Hey,” Richie greeted them, coming into the room. “Awesome – you guys brought food.”  
  
“And weed,” Agustín added.  
  
Patrick caught the expression on Agustín’s face when he saw Richie. He covered it quickly, but he was obviously shocked by his appearance. “Maybe we should put the lasagna in the oven?” he suggested, giving Agustín a pointed look.  
  
“Yeah. Sure, Paddy. I’ll come with you,” he responded, taking the hint.  
  
They left Eddie and Richie in the living room while they went into the kitchen. As soon as they were out of earshot, Patrick turned to Agustín and whispered urgently, “Please don’t say anything about…you know.”  
  
“Oh. No way,” Agustín reassured him. “I wasn’t going to.”  
  
“Good,” Patrick sighed, turning on the oven and waiting for it to pre-heat. “He’s been really down about losing his hair. We went to the grocery store yesterday and people were staring. I felt so bad for him.”  
  
“Oh my God, seriously?” Agustín shook his head. “Fucking assholes.”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick agreed. He took out plates and silverware and set them on the counter. “And I’m pretty sure they weren’t thinking cancer either, which only makes it worse.”  
  
“Wow. Fuck them,” Agustín fumed. He put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “As if you don’t have enough shit to deal with.”  
  
“Seriously.” Patrick furrowed his brow. He glanced over, through the open entryway to the living room. Richie and Eddie were chatting while they rolled joints on the coffee table.  
  
“How have you been doing lately?” Agustín asked, noticing the faraway look on his face.  
  
“Um,” Patrick tried to answer honestly. “It depends. Some days are better than others.”  
  
“Yeah, that makes sense.”  
  
“But Richie has his third round of chemo next week and then we’ll be halfway through. So that’s good, right?”  
  
“Definitely,” Agustín enthused. “That’s great, Paddy.”  
  
The oven finished pre-heating and Patrick opened it up, sliding the casserole dish inside. “By the way, what are you guys doing for Christmas? Are you going to visit Eddie’s family again?”  
  
“No, not this year,” Agustín answered. “Why? Do you want to do something?”  
  
“Yes. Please.” Patrick laughed. “My Mom’s been threatening to come and I wanted to tell her we have other plans.”  
  
Agustín chuckled. “I would be happy to help you dodge a visit from Dana. You should ask Dom too - find out if he’s doing anything with Michael.”  
  
“Hey, what are you ladies gabbing about in there?” Eddie called out from the living room. “Come, join us.”  
  
“Our men are missing us,” Agustín smirked.  
  
They walked over to the entryway into the living room. Eddie and Richie were sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, getting stoned together. Puffs of smoke swirled around their heads.  
  
“I rolled a joint for you, Pato,” Richie said, holding it out for him.  
  
“Aw, that’s so romantic,” Patrick giggled. He went over and sat down on the floor next to him, taking the joint and putting it in his mouth. Richie picked up a lighter and sparked it for him.  
  
Agustín settled on the floor beside Eddie, cuddling against his shoulder. He looked over at Patrick and they smiled at each other.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick sat on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He was very behind at work and he needed to catch up on a project before Friday’s deadline. Chiquita whined at his feet and he picked her up, sitting her on his lap.  
  
Thankfully, Ceci had managed to get an afternoon off to go with Richie to chemo. Otherwise, he would have fallen even further behind.  
  
Patrick’s phone dinged. He picked it up and put it back down without answering. It was a text from Dana, reminding him again that she was coming for Christmas. She had ignored his protests and charged ahead with her plans. That meant that they would need to go to the mall and find a gift for her.  
  
Patrick opened another window on his laptop and pulled up his bank website, typing in the password and logging in. When they had moved in together, he and Richie had decided not to share a joint account. They split their living expenses and kept their personal finances separate.  
  
The accounts were linked together though and Patrick was able to see just how little Richie currently had. It wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t been able to work much over the past month and, now that his health was starting to improve, he was struggling to get clients. It turned out that most people didn’t want a haircut from someone who looked seriously ill.  
  
The front door opened and Patrick looked up to see Richie walking in, with Ceci holding his arm. “Hey,” he said, moving the dog aside. He stood up and went over to them.  
  
“I made it through one more,” Richie smiled tiredly.  
  
Patrick put an arm around him. “It went ok?” He felt a little guilty about not being there, even though he didn’t really have a choice.  
  
“He did great,” Ceci said, smiling at Richie. She patted his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, primo. Eres tan fuerte.”  
  
Richie grinned. “Come by sometime and we’ll finish that season of Narcos, alright?”  
  
“You bet.” Ceci gave Patrick a quick hug, whispering in his ear, “Call me if you ever need anything.”  
  
“I will,” Patrick promised.  
  
After she left, Richie kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket. Patrick walked with him to the bedroom, Chiquita trailing behind them.  
  
“I’m so exhausted,” Richie said, pulling back the covers and lying down.  
  
Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his back. “Do you feel sick? Do you need me to get the trash can?”  
  
“No,” Richie said. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”  
  
Patrick was relieved to hear that. Maybe they had turned a corner and the worst of the side effects were behind them.  
  
Chiquita hopped up on the bed and licked Richie’s face. He laughed and petted her head. “Did you miss me?” he asked her, happy to accept doggy kisses.  
  
“I think she did,” Patrick smiled. “She kept looking out the window after you left.”  
  
Chiquita settled down, snuggling under Richie’s arm.  
  
“Were you able to get any work done today?” Richie asked, brushing a thumb over Patrick’s hand.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick answered. “I made a lot of progress. I think I might be done by Friday - hopefully. Fingers crossed.”  
  
“That’s good.” Richie stretched out, tucking an arm behind his head.  
  
Patrick lay down next to him. He reached over and petted Chiquita, remembering what he had seen on the bank website earlier. There had to be a way to bring it up that wouldn’t offend Richie. “Um, I was thinking…I know that you’ve been having trouble getting customers recently.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Richie looked at him curiously.  
  
“And I went online earlier, to check my account, and I noticed that yours is getting kind of low.”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie frowned. “I’ve had medical bills – you know insurance doesn’t cover it all,” he said defensively, “and, like you said, work hasn’t been going well.”  
  
“I know,” Patrick said soothingly, not wanting him to get upset. “It’s just that, I was kind of thinking, maybe…”  
  
“Maybe what?” Richie asked tensely.  
  
“Maybe you could just, sort of, for a little while, let me cover rent?” Patrick asked, bracing himself for his response. “But only for a little while – until you get back on your feet.”  
  
“ _No,_ ” Richie answered definitively. “Absolutely not.”  
  
“Can you at least just think about it?” Patrick gritted his teeth. He had known this was going be nearly impossible.  
  
Richie sat up in bed, looking away from him. “No. I don’t need to think about it. I’m not going to be borrowing money from you, living off your paycheck – you know that’s not who I am.”  
  
Patrick understood that this was hard for him. He had a lot of pride and it had taken plenty of hits recently, but they just couldn’t sidestep this conversation. “Ok,” he sighed. “So what should I tell our landlord when rent is due and your half isn’t there - ‘Sorry, my boyfriend’s being really stubborn right now, you’ll have to wait until next month’?”  
  
“I’ll get the money by then,” Richie claimed, his jaw clenched.  
  
“How?” Patrick wondered. “Seriously, Richie…”  
  
“I’ll sell some stuff on Ebay,” Richie shrugged. “I have some old vinyl records that might go for a lot of money. I’ll do more haircuts.”  
  
Patrick looked at him skeptically. He doubted that he could make up the money that quickly, especially with an uninterested customer base.  
  
“I’ve been in tight spots before. I’ll make it up,” Richie promised.  
  
“Ok, but if you don’t…” Patrick started.  
  
“ _I will,_ ” Richie interrupted. He lay back down again, fluffing the pillow and getting comfortable. “I just don’t want to talk about this anymore, ok? Not right now.”  
  
“Yeah, of course.” Patrick reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Get some rest.”  
  
Richie closed his eyes and Patrick got up, pulling the curtains closed. Chiquita snuggled up against Richie’s chest, falling asleep with him.  
  
\--  
  
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Patrick said, hugging her. “Did you have a good flight?”  
  
“It went fine,” Dana said. “I took a Xanax and slept through the whole thing.”  
  
“It’s nice to see you again,” Richie said, holding the gift that they had picked out for her. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
Dana looked at him, taking in his appearance with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. “Oh, Richie,” she sighed. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“I’m doing better, actually,” Richie told her. “My doctor says I’m responding well to the treatment.”  
  
“His blood counts are really strong,” Patrick added.  
  
“That’s wonderful,” Dana said, relieved. She gestured at the empty chairs at the table. “Have a seat and let’s order. I’m famished.”  
  
Patrick settled in next to Richie and picked up a menu. He raised his eyebrows when he flipped it open. Even the smallest appetizers were incredibly pricey.  
  
“Um, I think I’ll just have a salad,” Richie said, closing the menu hastily.  
  
“Yeah, me too,” Patrick agreed, “and a glass of water.”  
  
Dana looked at them both, a perplexed expression on her face. “Really? You’re not hungry?”  
  
“No, we ate earlier,” Patrick lied.  
  
“Yeah, we’re good,” Richie claimed. He adjusted his Giants cap and looked away from Dana’s intense gaze.  
  
“Well, then,” Dana said, closing her menu. “I’ll have the duck l’orange and you two can enjoy your salads.”  
  
Patrick was relieved when the waiter came over to take their orders and fill up their glasses with water. Truthfully, he was actually very hungry, but he would have felt like an asshole ordering chicken scallopini when Richie could only afford an appetizer.  
  
“I’m going to go to the restroom,” Richie explained, pushing his chair back.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Patrick gave him an understanding look. He wouldn’t blame him if he decided to escape out the bathroom window.  
  
Once he’d left, Dana wasted no time, jumping right in. “You’re having financial problems, I presume.”  
  
“No, Mom,” Patrick sighed, taking a sip of water. He had no desire to talk about this with her, at all.  
  
“Cancer treatments aren’t cheap,” Dana pointed out. “Does Richie have a good insurance plan?”  
  
“Yes, he does. He has ACA coverage and it’s been very helpful.” Patrick glanced over to the restrooms, wishing Richie would hurry back.  
  
“But you’re still struggling,” Dana guessed, reaching for her purse. “I can’t imagine it’s easy for Richie to drive around, giving haircuts, when he’s in such terrible health.”  
  
“Oh no, don’t,” Patrick warned, reaching across the table to try to stop her from taking out her checkbook.  
  
“Let me help you,” Dana pleaded, “and you don’t need to worry about paying me back. Just consider it a Christmas gift.”  
  
“Seriously, Mom, please put that away,” Patrick said, exasperated. “We don’t need it.”  
  
“Then why don’t you order an actual meal, then?” Dana demanded to know.  
  
“Because _I_ have money, Richie doesn’t.” Patrick didn’t like sharing this with her. It was a really sensitive issue and it was none of her business anyway.  
  
“Oh,” Dana’s lips tightened into a grimace. “I see.”  
  
“I offered to help him, but he wants to deal with it by himself,” Patrick explained. “It’s his decision. I respect it and I’m staying out of it.”  
  
“Hmm,” Dana said, putting her checkbook back in her purse. “So he’s too proud to take money from you, but he’s not making any money of his own? How does that work with your living situation?”  
  
“He _is_ making money,” Patrick said defensively. “Just not very much.”  
  
Dana’s eyes widened. “He’s still cutting hair? In that condition?”  
  
“Yes, he is,” Patrick sighed. “Can we please not talk about this anymore? Richie’s going to be back from the bathroom soon and I don’t want him to feel like we’ve been gossiping about him.”  
  
“Alright,” Dana said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “But, listen to me – if you do find yourself in a dire situation, don’t hesitate to call. I would be happy to help.”  
  
“I know, Mom,” Patrick smiled at her. “Thank you.”  
  
Dana reached across the table and squeezed his hand.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick was in the kitchen, checking the fridge for leftovers, when he heard the front door open. Richie had worked a long day – longer than he had in a while. He hoped it had been a good one for him.  
  
Chiquita scampered to the door, eager to welcome him home.  
  
“Hey,” Patrick said, poking his head into the living room. He was going to ask what he wanted for dinner, but the thought left his mind when he saw him.  
  
Richie was leaning against the wall by the door, too exhausted to walk any further.  
  
“Jesus, Richie.” Patrick went over to him, his arms outstretched. Richie slumped against him.  
  
“I made a lot of money today,” he murmured proudly into Patrick’s shoulder.  
  
“Oh, good,” Patrick said sarcastically. “We’ll need it when you put yourself in the hospital.”  
  
He guided Richie to a chair, helping him out of his baseball jacket and his shoes.  
  
\--  
  
Richie slid down into the tub, until he was up to his shoulders in hot, soapy water. He leaned back, closing his eyes. “This is just what I needed. Thanks, Pato.”  
  
Patrick leaned against the sink, staring at him sadly. He hated that he was doing this, pushing himself to the brink just so he wouldn’t have to accept his offer. It couldn’t be good for his recovery.  
  
“You should get in here with me,” Richie suggested, smiling at him.  
  
Patrick grinned, happy to take him up on the offer. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into the tub. Richie moved forward, so he could settle behind him.  
  
The water sloshed around them and Patrick sank down into it. “You know what this reminds me of?” he asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The night we stayed at that hotel in Arizona,” Patrick chuckled.  
  
Richie laughed. “Oh, yeah. That place was so weird.”  
  
Patrick soaped up Richie’s back and shoulders, trying to massage out the kinks. “We had fun though.”  
  
“Hmhm,” Richie agreed, leaning back against his chest. “The heart-shaped bed was pretty amazing.”  
  
Patrick giggled. “What you did to me on the heart-shaped bed is what I remember.”  
  
Richie turned his head and gave him a kiss. Patrick wrapped his arms around him, feeling a twinge of nostalgia for their traveling adventures. They had taken off for Texas, carefree and so deep in love. It felt like such a long time ago, instead of just two years.  
  
“I think I over did it today,” Richie admitted quietly.  
  
“Yeah, it seems like it.” Patrick kissed his cheek and rubbed his bald head. “I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”  
  
Richie closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can keep it up,” he said, sounding defeated.  
  
“Then don’t,” Patrick suggested. “Stay home and rest.”  
  
“It’s just so humiliating,” Richie confessed, his eyes welling up with tears. “But…I can’t. I just can’t do it.”  
  
“Hey. No, it’s alright,” Patrick wiped his tears away and hugged his thin frame.  
  
“If I wasn’t halfway through with chemo, I wouldn’t be saying this,” Richie warned. “But, I think, if you still want to, I’d be willing to let you cover rent – but just until February. And I will pay you back every penny.”  
  
“Of course. I know you’re good for it.” Patrick rubbed his shoulders. “I just didn’t want you to work too hard and ruin your recovery.”  
  
“I tried so hard today,” Richie told him. “I was practically dragging people into my truck.”  
  
“Oh, that’s not good,” Patrick frowned. “Forced haircuts.”  
  
Richie laughed weakly. “Some of them really needed it, to be honest.”  
  
The smell of honeysuckle wafted over from the scented candle Patrick had lit on the bathroom counter. “You’re already getting stronger,” he reminded him. “It won’t be very long before you’re finished with treatment and you can get back to normal.”  
  
Richie mulled that over. “I don’t know, Pato. How do you go back to normal after something like this? I don’t even know what that is anymore.”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Maybe not normal like it was before, but a different kind of normal.”  
  
Richie propped up his feet on the edge of the tub. Patrick stretched a leg up next to his, nudging his foot with his big toe.  
  
“I think you have bigger feet than me,” Richie smiled softly.  
  
“Uh huh,” Patrick grinned. “I like yours though…even that weird gap between your big toe and the one next to it. It’s kind of cute, actually.”  
  
Richie laughed, shaking his head at him.  
  
\--  
  
“I think you should lift up your end a little higher. It seems uneven.”  
  
Richie gave Patrick a bemused look. “You know we’re not entering a contest, right?”  
  
They were almost finished stringing Christmas lights around the edge of the ceiling in their living room. The decorating would have been done already if Patrick hadn’t been so fastidious.  
  
“I know. I know. Just hold it up a little higher,” Patrick directed. “We’re almost there.”  
  
Richie complied, securing his end of the lights with a small nail.  
  
“This is going to look so good,” Patrick said excitedly. He had gotten very into the holiday spirit, even buying a fake Christmas tree and a wreath for the front door.  
  
Richie’s phone went off and he hopped down from the stool he had been standing on. Patrick grabbed it and handed it to him.  
  
“Hola mamá. Feliz Navidad,” Richie answered. “We’re putting up lights. How are you doing?”  
  
Patrick opened a box of ornaments – red and green bulbs, dangling candy canes, and an angel for the top of the tree.  
  
“ _No,_ ” Richie suddenly said sharply.  
  
Patrick looked up to catch the angry expression on his face.  
  
“Tell him I said no,” Richie stated flatly, before softening his tone. “No llores, mamá. No quiero hacerte daño, pero no puedo hacer eso ...” _(Don’t cry, Mama. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t do that…)_  
  
Patrick started untangling the lights that would go on the tree. He hoped all the bulbs would work.  
  
“No, no lo haré sin Patrick.” _(No, I won’t do it without Patrick)_ Richie rubbed between his eyes like he was getting a headache. “Gracias por entender. te quiero.” _(Thank you for understanding. I love you)._  
  
Patrick glanced over at him when he ended the call. “What’s going on?”  
  
Richie got up and came over to help him with the lights. “Nothing. Just my Dad being an asshole, as usual.”  
  
“Oh,” Patrick frowned. “I thought you guys were starting to get along.”  
  
Richie and his Dad had talked on the phone a few times recently – short conversations, mostly about his health.  
  
“He wants me to come over for Christmas,” Richie said bitterly.  
  
Patrick’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, really? That’s huge.”  
  
“ _Me_ , Patrick,” Richie clarified. “Only me.”  
  
Patrick’s face fell. He immediately felt incensed on Richie’s behalf. It had taken so much for him to try again with his Dad, even just for a quick chat. Clearly, nothing had changed.  
  
“I feel like a fucking idiot,” Richie admitted. “Thinking he would be different.”  
  
“Fuck him,” Patrick said, still fussing with the tangled knot of Christmas lights. “You’ve given him enough chances. If he can’t accept that you’re gay and he can’t stand to see you with a boyfriend, then he can just fuck off.”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie nodded. “And I’m sure as hell not going to take his phone calls anymore. I mean, why did he even bother to reach out to me?”  
  
“Maybe he thinks chemo kills the gay,” Patrick suggested dryly.  
  
Richie grinned. “He’s going to be really disappointed then.”  
  
Patrick dropped the Christmas lights, exasperated. “God, this is a mess…and half these bulbs are probably blown out anyway.”  
  
“I’m going to get something to drink,” Richie said. “Do you want egg nog?”  
  
“Yes,” Patrick said gratefully. “Preferably with some bourbon mixed in, if you don’t mind.”  
  
“No, it’s ok,” Richie said, standing up. “You can drink if you want, Pato.”  
  
“Hey,” Patrick said, looking at him forlornly. “I’m really sorry about your Dad.”  
  
Richie grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. “Me too.”  
  
\--  
  
“Oh my God, you did not dress up your dog as Santa Claus,” Dom burst out laughing when he let them into his apartment.  
  
“Isn’t she adorable though?” Patrick asked, holding up Chiquita to give Dom a kiss.  
  
“Ok, yes, fine,” Dom said, after he’d had his face licked. “She’s very cute.”  
  
Patrick put the dog down and gave Dom a hug. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
Dom kissed his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Paddy.”  
  
“Hey, good to see you,” Richie said, giving Dom a quick hug. “Happy holidays.”  
  
“Oh, thank God – Patrick and Richie are here,” Doris’s voice rang out. “We can finally start eating – or start getting really drunk. Either one would be fine.”  
  
“That reminds me – I have to get back to the kitchen and check on the turkey,” Dom said, making a quick exit.  
  
The smells coming from the kitchen were mouth wateringly good. He was clearly preparing a huge feast.  
  
“Come over here,” Patrick called out to Doris. “We want see the baby.”  
  
Doris carried Charlie, balanced on her hip, with a glass of wine in her other hand. “You were right, by the way, about the whole teething thing,” she told Richie.  
  
“Of course he was,” Patrick smiled.  
  
“He’s just been drooling and teething up a storm.” Doris gave Richie a hug. “How are you doing?” she asked, serious for once.  
  
“Better,” Richie told her, making a funny face at the baby.  
  
“Good. Glad to hear it,” Doris lifted up Charlie’s shirt and wiped some drool from his chin. “I mean, you look fantastic – you’ve got cancer and you’re still prettier than me. I don’t know how you’re pulling that off.”  
  
Richie laughed sheepishly.  
  
“Can I hold him?” Patrick asked, looking at the baby.  
  
“Of course,” Doris said, “Give my arm a rest.”  
  
She handed Charlie over and Patrick took him. “Oh my God, he’s adorable,” he said, when he had him in his arms.  
  
“Hi there, cutie,” Richie said, smoothing down the hair on the baby’s head.  
  
Charlie sucked on his tiny fist, drool dripping down his chin.  
  
\--  
  
“The fundraiser went really well this year,” Agustín said.  
  
“And his photo book was a huge hit,” Eddie said proudly. “Every copy sold out.”  
  
They were all seated at a big picnic table that Dom had set up on the outdoor patio. Christmas lights and party lanterns were strewn everywhere, bathing them in a warm glow.  
  
Patrick looked around at his friends and felt so grateful to be with them. Doris and Malik were sitting side by side, with Charlie entertaining himself in a play pen nearby. Eddie and Agustín held hands and talked excitedly about their plans for the future, while Dom gazed lovingly at Michael, who was sitting beside him.  
  
“What is it?” Richie asked, noticing that he was getting teary eyed.  
  
Patrick smiled at him brightly. “Nothing – I’m just happy.”  
  
Richie’s concerned look softened and he put an arm around his shoulders. “Me too, Pato.”  
  
“Seriously Dom, these are the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever had in my life,” Agustín said.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick agreed. “And the turkey is incredible.”  
  
“Thanks,” Dom smirked. “Just don’t forget to leave a tip.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Patrick laughed sarcastically.  
  
“Did you say ‘leave the tip’?” Doris asked. “Is that what you’re into these days?”  
  
“Oh God,” Malik sighed. “I’m gonna need more wine.”  
  
“Stay after dinner and you’ll find out,” Michael teased her.  
  
“If you’re trying to invite me to a threeway, I’m in,” Doris shot back, “Or fourway – sorry, Malik.”  
  
“No, I’m good,” Malik said, holding up his hands. “Leave me out.”  
  
Richie whispered conspiratorially in Patrick’s ear, “I think we should tell them now.”  
  
Patrick nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said quietly, “Before they get any drunker.”  
  
Richie tapped his fork on the side of his glass to draw everyone’s attention.  
  
“We have an announcement to make,” Patrick said, shushing the talkative group. “Go ahead, Richie.”  
  
Richie cleared his throat before speaking. “So, um, as you all know, I’ve been going through treatment for cancer. I had my third round of chemo last week and we had some good news afterward.”  
  
Patrick was beaming.  
  
“The doctor said that the cancer is gone and he’s pretty sure that I’m going to have a full recovery.”  
  
“Fuck yeah!” Agustín cheered, clapping his hands together. “Way to go, Richie!”  
  
“That’s the best news,” Dom said. “I’m so happy for you guys.”  
  
Everyone started talking over each other, eager to congratulate them. Patrick leaned against Richie’s shoulder, feeling so overjoyed. They were going to be ok. He was going to recover. The relief he felt was indescribable.  
  
“I still have to finish chemo and do radiation,” Richie said, “Just to be safe.”  
  
“But the doctor said his prognosis is excellent,” Patrick butted in, practically giddy at the news. It had been so hard to keep it from his friends for a week, but they had wanted to tell everyone all at once, in person.  
  
“I think we should have a toast,” Eddie suggested.  
  
“Yeah, definitely,” Agustín agreed, holding up his glass. “To Paddy and Richie – we love you guys and we’re so happy for you.”  
  
Everyone held up glasses of wine, and, in Richie’s case, Diet Coke.  
  
“Oh, and one more thing – fuck cancer!” Agustín added.  
  
They all cheered loudly, clinking their glasses together.  
  
\--  
  
“Aw, those poor Whos in Whoville,” Patrick said, settling on the couch. He had changed into one of Richie’s old t-shirts and a pair of flannel pajama pants with reindeer on them.  
  
“How can you still be eating?” Richie chuckled, noticing the plate of pumpkin pie on his lap. “I’m so full I can barely move.”  
  
Patrick forked another bite into his mouth. “I don’t know. I’ve always got room for more dessert.”  
  
On TV, the Grinch and his little dog were busily plotting to ruin Christmas. His heart hadn’t grown three sizes yet.  
  
“We could put antlers like that on Chiquita,” Richie smiled, looking down at their dog. She was asleep between them, worn out from the trip to San Francisco.  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick said, scooping up a bite of whipped cream and pie. “I think the Santa outfit worked really well for her though.”  
  
There was a knock at the door. Richie looked up, surprised.  
  
“Oh God,” Patrick groaned. “If that’s Christmas Carolers or Mormon missionaries, don’t answer. We’ve already had both this week.”  
  
Richie got up from the couch reluctantly. “Maybe it’s caroling missionaries.”  
  
“Don’t even joke about that,” Patrick warned. “It’s probably a real thing.”  
  
Richie went over and answered the door. Patrick couldn’t see who it was from where he was sitting. He kept eating his pie, scraping up the last of it from his plate.  
  
“Why are you even here?” Richie asked coldly. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”  
  
The visitor ignored his tone. “It’s hard to see you looking this way. Your mother told me that you’d lost your hair.”  
  
Patrick realized who the man was without seeing his face. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, putting his plate down on the coffee table.  
  
“She’s been crying all day, Ricardo, wishing you would come. You’re breaking her heart.”  
  
“ _I’m_ breaking her heart?” Richie spat out furiously. “Salí. Sólo sal.” _(Get out. Just get out)._  
  
Richie’s Dad, José, continued on. “I wanted to speak with you, but you didn’t answer my messages.”  
  
“I know. I did that on purpose.”  
  
“Why, mijo? We were getting along so well,” José demanded to know. ¿Porque no invitamos a tu amigo? ¿Por qué te ofendes tan fácilmente?” _(Because we didn’t invite your friend? Why do you get offended so easily?)_  
  
Richie was too angered to even respond, his jaw firmly set. He glanced over at Patrick for support.  
  
“Why don’t you just let him in?” Patrick suggested quietly. He knew Richie wasn’t actually going to slam the door in his face and he didn’t want them fighting in the hallway, where the neighbors could hear.  
  
Richie exhaled, stepping back and letting his Dad enter the apartment. José looked much older than the photos Patrick had seen. His hair had gone gray and he had deep creases in his face.  
  
“Hi,” Patrick said, smiling tightly.  
  
José didn’t acknowledge or even look at him. It was as if he was invisible. He turned to Richie, handing him a wrapped Christmas gift. “Mamá wanted to give this to you.”  
  
Richie clenched his fists, his eyes flashing with rage.  
  
“Uh, I’m going to go to the kitchen,” Patrick said, deciding it would be a good time to excuse himself. He picked up his plate and stood, deliberately brushing against Richie’s arm as he left the room. “Come and get me if you need me,” he whispered.  
  
He had barely stepped into the kitchen when Richie lit into his Dad. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he seethed. “Coming into our home and disrespecting him like that. I should kick you out right now.”  
  
“This has nothing to do with him, Ricardo,” José shot back.  
  
“It has _everything_ to do with him,” Richie said, his voice getting louder. “He’s the most important person in the world to me and you treat him like he doesn’t exist. How do you expect me to have any relationship with you when you act that way?”  
  
“No entiendo,” _(I don’t understand)_ José lamented. “Mamá y yo hicimos todo lo que pudimos para criarte bien...” _(Mamá and I did everything we could to raise you right…)_  
  
“You want to tell me you’re ashamed of me again?” Richie asked wearily. “Is that what you came for?”  
  
“No,” José said sadly. “I don’t want any more fights. The reason I came here, the reason I invited you to Christmas dinner, is because I want to know you. When I found out that you had cancer, I thought I might lose that chance.”  
  
“No estoy seguro de que lo digas en serio,” _(I’m not sure you really mean that)_ Richie said, his voice thick. “No voy a cambiar lo que soy.” _(I’m not going to change who I am)._  
  
José gave a small nod. “I just need you to let me in and be patient with me. There are a lot of things I don’t understand, that are hard for me to accept. But I want to try.”  
  
“Ok,” Richie said, squaring his shoulders. “Prove it then.”  
  
He went over to the kitchen entryway, gesturing for Patrick to come. He got up from the table, where he had been listening to their conversation  
  
“I need you to apologize to him,” Richie said, when Patrick had joined them in the living room.  
  
José’s mouth creased into a deep frown. He finally looked at Patrick, his weathered face staring him down. “I am sorry I offended you,” he said carefully, without much emotion.  
  
Patrick smiled at him nervously. He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Patrick,” he offered.  
  
José looked at his hand and for a second it seemed like he wasn’t going take it. He glanced at Richie, who was watching them. “I’m José, Ricardo’s Dad,” he said, returning the handshake.  
  
The tension in the room was unbearable and no one seemed to know what to say. They just stood around awkwardly, until José finally broke the silence.  
  
“I should get home,” he said. “Mamá doesn’t know where I am and I don’t want her to worry.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Richie said, leading him to the door.  
  
“Maybe I can call you tomorrow?” José asked.  
  
Richie nodded. “That would be ok.”  
  
“Feliz Navidad, Ricardo,” José said, patting him on the shoulder.  
  
“Feliz Navidad,” Richie said. “Agradezca a mamá por el regalo.” _(Thank Mamá for the gift)._  
  
After he had left, Richie turned and looked at Patrick, flabbergasted.  
  
“Oh my God,” Patrick said. “Do you think he meant it? Is he really going to try to accept you?”  
  
“I don’t even know,” Richie said, shaking his head. “I’m not even sure that was my Dad, or if some pod person took over his body.”  
  
Patrick laughed. He walked over and hugged him. “Maybe it was a Christmas miracle.”  
  
“Yeah,” Richie grinned. “He must have been visited by three spirits last night.”


	4. Renewal

“It’s your last day, Richie,” the nurse said cheerfully, while she inserted the needle. “Do you have any plans to celebrate?”  
  
Richie looked over at Patrick, who was sitting next to him, and smiled. “Maybe we’ll have a belated Valentine’s Day dinner.”  
  
Patrick held his hand, barely noticing what the nurse was doing. By now, he had stopped being uncomfortable with any part of the process. It was all very familiar.  
  
“That sounds nice,” the nurse said. “You certainly deserve an evening out.”  
  
“He does,” Patrick agreed, grabbing a few lemon drops from the bag on Richie’s lap. “I’m going to spoil him so much.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Richie smirked. “How are you gonna do that?”  
  
“I’ve got some plans up my sleeve,” Patrick promised mysteriously.  
  
After the nurse left, Richie rearranged the pillow behind his head, getting comfortable, and turned on the TV. “They’re doing makeovers,” he said, leaving it on a talk show.  
  
“You love Before and Afters,” Patrick grinned.  
  
“I do,” Richie admitted, “especially when the hair is a fried, fucked up mess, like this woman.”  
  
They watched the TV for a few minutes and then Patrick reached over and took Richie’s hand again. He gave him a meaningful look, unable to put into words everything he was feeling.  
  
“We did it,” Richie said, reading his mind. “We’ve almost made it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Patrick exhaled. “I mean, there’s still radiation, but this part is finally done.”  
  
“Hey, c’mere,” Richie said, pulling him closer.  
  
Patrick leaned in so he could hug him and give him a quick kiss.  
  
“I love you,” Richie said quietly. “I couldn’t have done all this without you.”  
  
Patrick bit his lip, fighting back tears. “God,” he sighed. “I love you like crazy. I’m _so_ glad you’re going to be ok.”  
  
“Of course I am,” Richie grinned, cockily. “You think a little thing like cancer’s going to take me down?”  
  
Patrick laughed. “Right. I forgot – you’re Richie Donado. You’re indestructible.”  
  
“It kinda seems that way,” Richie smiled.  
  
Patrick kissed him again, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. “Love you, love you, love you,” he whispered.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick unlocked the door to their apartment and flung it open, beaming with pride. When they had left for chemo earlier that day, he had deliberately left his keys behind so he could go back inside. He had arranged a vase of long stemmed roses on the coffee table, with a card and a box of chocolates beside it.  
  
“Aww, Pato,” Richie said, hugging him. “You didn’t have to do all this.”  
  
“It’s a late Valentine’s Day present,” Patrick explained.  
  
Richie picked up the box of chocolates. “Are you sure these are for me?” he teased. “Or are you going to eat all the gooey ones?”  
  
“Shut up,” Patrick laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Open the card.”  
  
Richie complied, opening it and reading.  
  
_Dear Richie,  
  
When I think back about everything we’ve been through together, I always remember the first time we met, on Muni. You asked me if I was lost and I lied and said no. But I WAS lost and that night you found me. I’m grateful for that and so much more. You’re my strength and my heart. I love you more than anything.  
  
Happy Valentine’s Day.  
Love, Patrick  
_  
They were both crying before Richie had even finished reading. Patrick hugged him while he read over his shoulder.  
  
Chiquita came into the room and circled their feet anxiously.  
  
“I love you too,” Richie said, putting down the card and kissing him tearfully.  
  
“So you’ll be my Valentine?” Patrick smiled, his eyes shining.  
  
Richie grinned. “You bet,” he promised, giving him a deep, passionate kiss.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick was at the kitchen table, working on his laptop, when Richie came home from his first radiation treatment a few weeks later. “How did it go?” he asked.  
  
Richie had insisted on driving himself. There wasn’t much of a reason for Patrick to be there, since he couldn’t go in the room anyway. “It went alright, I guess,” he told him, slumping down on the couch.  
  
Patrick got up and went in the living room.  
  
Richie had curled up on his side, a throw pillow underneath his head. “I’m just really worn out, is all,” he explained.  
  
They had been warned that radiation treatments would be exhausting and, possibly, nausea inducing. Patrick took off Richie’s Giants cap and pulled off his shoes, then grabbed a trash can to put next to the couch.  
  
“I’m not going to throw up, Pato.”  
  
“Ok, but it’s there if you need it,” Patrick said. “Do you want a blanket – or the remote?”  
  
“No,” Richie closed his eyes. “I’m good.”  
  
Patrick went back to the kitchen and unplugged his laptop, bringing it to the living room. He settled in an armchair next to the couch, so he would be close by if Richie needed anything.  
  
\--  
  
Richie finished radiation in April. They went to Li Po and got drunk on Mai Tai’s to celebrate.  
  
“So, what are you gonna do, now that you’ve got all this over with?” Doris asked. “Any big, exciting plans?”  
  
“Yeah, what’s on your bucket list?” Dom grinned.  
  
Richie exchanged a look with Patrick while he sipped his drink. “I’ve got some ideas.”  
  
“Besides having a marathon fuckfest with Paddy,” Agustín interjected.  
  
Patrick laughed. “No, we already did that yesterday.”  
  
Richie guffawed, nudging him in the shoulder. “Seriously though, I think I just want to try to appreciate my life more, not take anything for granted.”  
  
“Stop and smell the roses,” Doris added.  
  
“Exactly,” Richie agreed.  
  
“Well, I’m going to go count my blessings at the urinal,” Agustín said, sliding out of the booth. “Be right back.”  
  
Patrick took another sip of his drink. Richie put an arm around his shoulders and they snuggled together.  
  
“You know what I just realized,” Doris said, “I’m the only person at this table who hasn’t hooked up with Patrick.”  
  
“Aw,” Patrick giggled. “I’m sorry, Doris.”  
  
“Hey,” Dom grinned. “Did we ever tell you about when Paddy and I made out, the night before Eddie and Agustín’s wedding?”  
  
“Whaaat?!” Doris shrieked. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
Richie laughed. “ _I_ heard about that.”  
  
“It was so weird,” Patrick chuckled, looking across the booth at Dom. He was really glad they hadn’t gone any further than kissing. It had all worked out a lot better, for both of them.  
  
Dom smiled. “He’s a good kisser though.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” Doris said.  
  
Patrick laughed, leaning across the table. “Hey, let me kiss you, Doris. Then you won’t feel left out.” He was drunk enough for the idea to make perfect sense.  
  
Doris cracked up. “Oh God, are you serious?”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“Richie, you’re cool with this?” Doris asked.  
  
Richie shrugged and sipped his drink. “Yeah, why not?”  
  
“Ok, fine then,” Doris relented, leaning forward and puckering up.  
  
Patrick surprised her, grabbing her face and giving her a big smooch. The kiss finally ended when he burst out laughing. “Oh my God,” he howled, letting go and sitting back in the booth.  
  
“Wow,” Doris said, gobsmacked. “Well, my life’s been made. It’s all downhill from here.”  
  
Dom was laughing so hard he could barely talk. “The look on your face…” he gasped.  
  
Richie grinned at Patrick, who was giggling hysterically. “I should have taken a picture. Agustín’s going to be sorry he missed it.”  
  
Patrick nodded, out of breath. He looked over at Doris. “Unless you want to do it again when he gets back,” he said, jokingly.  
  
Doris rolled her eyes. “No, I’m good thanks.”  
  
\--  
  
“Mmm, you’re so hot,” Patrick flopped onto the bed, pulling Richie’s shirt up and over his head.  
  
Richie straddled his waist, grinning drunkenly at him. Thankfully, they no longer needed prescription meds to fuck – or condoms.  
  
Patrick touched his chest, brushing his fingers over the spot where the port-a-cath had been. There was going to be a scar there, a permanent reminder of what they had survived together.  
  
Richie kissed him, taking his mind away from any cancer related thoughts. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he confessed. “I thought about it the whole way home.”  
  
Patrick smiled. “You know what I jus’ realized?” he slurred.  
  
“What?” Richie asked, kissing his throat.  
  
“We’re alive,” Patrick breathed.  
  
Richie laughed. “You just figured that out?”  
  
Patrick giggled. “No, I mean – I know we’re alive. It jus’ hit me, how amazing that is.”  
  
“Oh, ok,” Richie said.  
  
“We’re alive and, God, if we’re lucky, we’re gonna be for a long time,” Patrick said, rubbing his arm. “I’m gonna see what you look like when you’re old, with wrinkles and gray hair.”  
  
Richie laughed. “I already have some gray hairs, Pato. I color them.”  
  
“What? I didn’t know that,” Patrick chuckled.  
  
“I get what you mean though,” Richie told him. “Everything feels really special now. I’m so grateful all the time.”  
  
Patrick kissed him. “It’s a new start,” he said.  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Richie beamed.  
  
\--  
  
Patrick woke up one morning, in late spring. There was a post-it note stuck to the lamp beside the bed. He put on his glasses to read the message. _Went for a run. Love you. P.S. I made coffee._  
  
Richie had gotten in the routine of going running in the early morning hours. Sometimes Patrick joined him, but on the weekends he preferred to sleep in.  
  
Outside the bedroom window, birds were chirping and the trees were covered in blossoms.  
  
Patrick got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He pulled his favorite mug out of the cabinet, reaching over the bottles of vitamins and herbal supplements on the kitchen counter.  
  
Chiquita didn’t come to greet him, like she usually did in the mornings, so he figured she must have gone with Richie.  
  
After filling his mug, Patrick went to the living room. He was sitting on the couch, sipping his coffee, when his eyes fell on a box on top of the TV cabinet. He put the mug down and went over.  
  
The box was full of pieces for the bookshelf they had bought at IKEA months ago. He dumped all of it out and grabbed the instruction manual, determined to finally get it put together.  
  
By the time Richie came home, the shelf was built and Patrick was stacking it with books.  
  
\--  
  
“How did lunch go with your Dad?” Patrick asked. They were hiking one of their favorite trails in Oakland, with Chiquita on a leash in front of them.  
  
“It went ok,” Richie said. “Sometimes he still pisses me off a lot, but at least I can mention you now and he won’t storm off or hang up on me.”  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Patrick said. “It sounds like you’re making progress.”  
  
There was a clearing up ahead, in the distance, where they could stop and cool down.  
  
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do now, you know,” Richie said, wiping sweat from his brow.  
  
“Sure.” Patrick squinted, wishing he’d remembered to bring his sunglasses.  
  
“Now that I’m finally able to work again, I’m going to finish paying you back…”  
  
“You don’t have to,” Patrick told him.  
  
“I know, but it’s important to me,” Richie explained. “And then, when I’ve saved up some money again, I think I’d like to travel more.”  
  
“Really?” Patrick smiled. “Where do you want to go?”  
  
Richie grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe another road trip? I’ve never been to New York.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Patrick said excitedly. “We could be tourists! I’d love to go to the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty and the Met...”  
  
Richie laughed. “Ok, calm down. We don’t have the money yet. I’m just saying, some day…”  
  
“I know,” Patrick said, bumping his shoulder. “It would be so much fun though.”  
  
They finally made it to the clearing and stopped. Chiquita stretched her leash, going over to a bush and lifting up her leg.  
  
“I don’t want to waste time anymore,” Richie said, taking a swig from a bottle of water. “It’s like, if I want to do something, I have to do it immediately, before I lose the chance.”  
  
“I understand,” Patrick said, lifting up his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. Chiquita came back over and he bent down to pet her head.  
  
“So I’ve been thinking,” Richie said, running a hand through his short, dark hair, “About us and how much I love you.”  
  
Patrick looked up at him and smiled. He didn’t really know where Richie was going with this, so he just kept petting the dog and rubbing her belly.  
  
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Patrick,” Richie said, suddenly very emotional. “However long it ends up being, I want you by my side for all of it.”  
  
“Oh God,” Patrick stood up, finally realizing what he was trying to say. He’d been hinting at it for days, actually.  
  
“I don’t have a ring,” Richie explained. “I’m saving up for that too, but I was hoping, even without it…”  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” Patrick blurted out, teary eyed. He already had his answer ready, without even hearing the question.  
  
Richie laughed. “Can you at least let me ask? I had a whole thing prepared.”  
  
“Ok, ok,” Patrick grinned. “Go ahead.”  
  
Richie swallowed back a lump in his throat and took his hand. “Patrick Murray, will you please do me the honor of marrying me?”  
  
“Fuck yes. Absolutely,” Patrick beamed at him through his tears. He immediately had his arms around him, kissing him.  
  
“Thank God,” Richie said, between kisses. “I tried to ask you, like, four times this week and you kept interrupting me.”  
  
Patrick laughed. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. This was perfect though.”  
  
They hugged and made out, until other hikers started coming up the trail and they had to move out of the way. Richie took Patrick’s hand and they started walking back down, Chiquita pulling the leash in front of them.  
  
Patrick couldn’t wipe the enormous smile off his face. He gave Richie a sideways glance and noticed that he was grinning from ear to ear too.  
  
An elderly couple with white hair passed them, on their way up. The man was using a walking stick to steady himself.  
  
“We just got engaged,” Patrick told them, unable to contain his excitement.  
  
“Good for you, dear,” the elderly woman said as she walked by.  
  
Richie chuckled. “You’re going to tell everybody?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Patrick smirked.  
  
“Those people were really old,” Richie said, glancing back at them. “They must be ninety, at least.”  
  
“That could be us some day,” Patrick smiled, nudging him.  
  
“That’s right,” Richie agreed. He leaned in and kissed him. “I can’t wait to be married to you, Pato.”  
  
“Me too,” Patrick said.  
  
Richie slung an arm around his shoulders and Patrick closed his eyes for just a second, letting all the happiness of the beautiful day wash over him.


End file.
